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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24960697">Silver and Steel</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/colobonema/pseuds/colobonema'>colobonema</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy VIII</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action &amp; Romance, Alternate Universe - Historical, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Feudalism, Gen, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, Pseudo-History, Samurai, Sorceresses, Supernatural Elements</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:20:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>64,865</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24960697</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/colobonema/pseuds/colobonema</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Swords, sorcery and Squinoa, in a feudal AU setting. In the underbelly of Esthar's castle town, far below the silver-leafed tower of the Lord's keep high on its hill, a band of thieves run afoul of the Lord of the domain's soldiers.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rinoa Heartilly/Squall Leonhart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter I</strong>
</p>
<p>She stood in the shadows, flat against the wall of the dark alley, waiting for soft, secret footsteps that would belong to Selphie.</p>
<p>This had become their pattern, the way they lived. Irvine would be at the stables at the town gate, loosening the tethers of the nobles' chocobos, ready to be stolen for a swift escape. Selphie would return any moment from the tavern, with a wide grin and both pockets full of silver coins.</p>
<p>The footsteps that came were neither secret nor soft. Selphie hurtled into the alleyway, knocking a cleaner's broom and pail across the cobblestones, the dirty water seeping into the uneven valleys between each smooth gray stone.</p>
<p>"Flee, Rin! It's no good! The lord's men were inside. At least two of 'em."</p>
<p>The girl called Rin slipped out of the shadows, and followed Selphie on light feet as she darted down the alley, and took a turn into the next, then another. The labyrinthine streets of the castle town were designed to flummox outsiders; Selphie was no outsider, and knew exactly how to lose a pursuer in the maze. They dashed and turned, and the heavy bootsteps at Rin's heels soon faded away, but she did not stop running.</p>
<p>Selphie came to a halt in front of a high fence at the very end of a narrow lane filled with musty smells, and leapt up, quickly seeking footholds and handholds in the rickety wood. She swung her body over the top, and Rin heard her drop down. As soon as the fence stopped shaking, Rin followed, ignoring the splinters that drove into her palms.</p>
<p>She reached the top, and twisted her body around to fall without harm, landing softly at Selphie's side. Selphie grabbed her shoulders, and pulled her in for an impulsive embrace, which Rin returned, her pounding adrenaline forcing gasps from her throat. She pulled back to take in their surroundings, a dead end encircled by the tall earthen walls of the town. The ground was muddy, and a crow's carcass lay in the far corner, ragged black feathers strewn across the wet soil.</p>
<p>As she caught her breath, Rin felt inside her pockets for her throwing stars, and let her fingers curl around them in readiness. "You think we're safe here?"</p>
<p>"For now. There's none among the lord's soldiers who are limber enough to scale that." Selphie gave a loud cackle. "Their swords would cut their family jewel-sacks in half if they tried bending that far over."</p>
<p>Rin grimaced at the image. "Tell me what happened in the tavern."</p>
<p>"One of 'em saw me with my hand in a noble's pocket and shouted. I got out as soon as the commotion started."</p>
<p>"So no money this time?"</p>
<p>"Not money, no. But I did get <em>this</em>."</p>
<p>She reached inside her tattered yellow garb and pulled out a long, thick silver chain with a jeweled dragon pendent dangling from it, its multifaceted eyes perfectly carved from glittering redstones. Rin twisted the chain around her fingers and grinned at Selphie.</p>
<p>"Wonderful. That'll fetch us a month's lodgings, wouldn't you say?"</p>
<p>Selphie snatched the necklace back and stuffed it in her pocket. "Two months, if you'd let Irvy share our room."</p>
<p>"Well, I won't. He would enjoy it far too much."</p>
<p>Selphie's mouth opened for a retort that never came, her eyes suddenly wide with horror, and Rin whirled to see a pair of hands appear over the top of the fence. A heavily-built blond man pulled himself over the fence and jumped down, landing skillfully on his feet. Rin caught a glimpse of the black tattoo that sprawled across the side of his face, and tightened her grip on her throwing stars. Facial tattoos were used to brand criminals for life on the island of Balamb.</p>
<p>He straightened, and faced them; he was barely taller than Rin herself, but must have weighed three times as much. Every inch of his compact stature was packed tightly with muscle.</p>
<p>"Now there's plenty who say I'm not the brightest candle in the shop, but surely it takes a special sort of fool to hide away in a dead end." He grinned, revealing a row of even teeth, and cracked his knuckles.</p>
<p>Rin pushed herself in front of Selphie, and faced the man with all the ferocity she could summon, brandishing a throwing star in her hand.</p>
<p>"What do you plan do to us?"</p>
<p>He eyed the star with interest, then shrugged, a cluster of thick metal rings fastened to his belt jangling as he folded one leg behind the other. "Nothin'.</p>
<p>"Nothing?" Rin repeated, incredulous.</p>
<p>"I'll wait for my lord to decide."</p>
<p>Selphie stepped out from behind Rin, wielding her nunchaku with both hands. "You're on the side of the law? <em>You?</em>"</p>
<p>He smiled at her disdain. "Hard to believe?"</p>
<p>"You're a criminal, with that face. Worse than us, I'd wager."</p>
<p>The man's smile broadened. "Not any more. Didn't you know that Esthar is the land of second chances?" He craned his head to look past Selphie straight at Rin, his pale blue eyes keen and sharp. "Looks like your little Galbadian friend has wasted hers." At Rin's flinch of surprise, he raised his eyebrows. "Come now, I know a Westerner when I see one, and that accent's hardly well hidden."</p>
<p>He stepped towards them, and Selphie pulled her nunchaku back, ready to man watched her carefully, and neither moved, waiting for the other, and Rin held her breath.</p>
<p>A blast hit her ears, dust and earth filled her eyes, and the blond man ducked as jagged shards of the fence came flying through the air. A tall, rangy figure in a leather cloak stepped through the new gap in the fence, and pressed the barrel of his musket against the blond man's back.</p>
<p>"Irvy!" Selphie breathed.</p>
<p>Irvine wiped the dust from his brow, and prodded his adversary sharply with the musket. He was grim-faced and fearsome, a world away from the charming, flippant thief Rin knew him to be.</p>
<p>"You touch either one o' my girls, and you'll feel gunpowder hit your spine."</p>
<p>The blond man scowled, but held still, waiting for Irvine's next move.</p>
<p>Rin saw the flash of steel before she saw the man who wielded it. An arc of metal swept across the barrel of Irvine's musket, and ten inches of the gun's length dropped to the earthen floor, cut straight through like a piece of cloth. Irvine's expression turned to one of stunned incomprehension and he spun round, only to be met with a swift, sharp elbow to the face, an uppercut that sent him to the ground, knocked unconscious.</p>
<p>The swordsman looked coolly down at the felled musketman, and stepped over Irvine's body. He held his blade out to the side, and Rin's eyes traveled across the long, slender steel of a traditional Esthari sword, one single sharp edge curving gently towards a tip that ended flat in a diagonal finish.</p>
<p>He raised his arm, and in one fluid motion, swung the sword across his torso to sheathe it in the glossy black lacquered scabbard at his waist. He was clothed in black Esthari warriors' robes, with black hide gloves on his hands. The swordsman's long hair was tied at the nape of his neck, except for a few unruly strands at the front that framed his chin. His face was proud, cold, his eyes wrought from the same steel as his sword.</p>
<p>The blond man dipped his head in gratitude, breaking into an admiring grin as he bobbed back up. "Nicely done, m'lord."</p>
<p>The swordsman's eyes flickered to Rin and Selphie, then he nodded to the cluster of rings at the blond man's belt. "Shackle them, and take their weapons."</p>
<p>The blond man unfastened and snapped off two of the rings, and set to work at fixing them to Selphie's wrists while she writhed and cursed at him, then turned to Rin and did the same. He then wrestled Selphie's nunchaku away from her waist, and pulled Rin's throwing stars from the pockets of her garb with nimble hands that, to his credit, sought only her weapons, not her flesh. He took one of the stars between two fingers, and turned it back and forth with obvious appreciation.</p>
<p>"Nice. Very nice."</p>
<p>She said nothing.</p>
<p>He pressed the very tip of one point against his thumb, and grinned in satisfaction at the neat bead of blood that welled up in its wake. He licked it away, ignoring Selphie's loud noise of disgust.</p>
<p>"D'you know how to use these things?"</p>
<p>"Of course. I wouldn't carry them if I didn't."</p>
<p>"Hm." He stuffed the stars into the leather pack on his shoulders along with Selphie's nunchaku. "You'd be the first Galbadian that could, then."</p>
<p>The swordsman made an impatient motion behind them. "Zell. Do not waste your breath on thieves. Shackle the musketman, then let us be on our way."</p>
<p>"Yes, m'lord." The blond man - Zell, evidently - bent to pick up the two sliced halves of Irvine's weapon. He stowed it in his pack, then slapped Irvine's face lightly, receiving no reaction. Zell shrugged and attended to Irvine's wrists with another metal ring from his belt.</p>
<p>"Don't touch 'im like that." Selphie snarled, receiving an eyebrow raise from the swordsman.</p>
<p>"He was ready to shoot my retainer in the back. I'd say he's earned a slap or two."</p>
<p>"He never shot 'im. He's all talk. We ain't done nothin' wrong."</p>
<p>"There are laws against theft in Esthar. How odd that you do not know of them."</p>
<p>"There's theft and then there's <em>theft. </em>The only folks we steal from are snotty-nosed nobles. They never earned a single gil of what they've got, did they? We give it to the ones that really need it."</p>
<p>Zell released a skeptical snort, and the swordsman gazed down impassively at Selphie; her height barely reached halfway up his chest.</p>
<p>"Surely you can appreciate that the lord of this domain cannot allow you to redistribute wealth among his people as you see fit."</p>
<p>Selphie spat on the ground. "What would he know? He's a noble, along with the rest of 'em."</p>
<p>The swordsman regarded her coolly, but Rin did not miss how he'd flinched at Selphie's spittle. He was used to better manners, it seemed. A high-born sort. She'd known plenty of his type back in the western continent.</p>
<p>"Lord Laguna was once a common soldier, you must know that. He was not born to wealth. He rose to power through his own merit."</p>
<p>"So? He's a noble <em>now</em>, ain't he? Got more silver on the top of that eyesore castle of his than we'll ever see in a lifetime. And that son of his is a right pampered noble, no mistake. I heard he's the snottiest of 'em all."</p>
<p>His jaw tightened. "That's enough of your wisdom for now. You'll join us on our return to the castle, so if it offends your eyes, close them."</p>
<p>"And then what?" challenged Rin. "Throw us in the dungeon, will you?"</p>
<p>He met her eyes, and she now had no doubt that she was looking upon a young lord. The eldest son of an old Esthari noble clan, at her best guess. He had that look to him of one who was primed for responsibility before he ever left his nursemaid's knee. She knew that look rather well.</p>
<p>"Lord Kiros decides the fate of thieves. It is not for me to say how he will judge you. Your musketman's punishment, however, is a matter of course."</p>
<p>Selphie stared at the unconscious Irvine with horror, and Rin's heart sank. The law of Esthar was unyielding on those who handled firearms.</p>
<p>"You ain't... you ain't cuttin' off his hand. He'll kill you first. He'll kill you all."</p>
<p>Zell cocked his head to one side. "What with? M'lord's blade has made a mess of his musket. And he don't look like the fist-fightin' sort."</p>
<p>The young lord's eyes were still fixed on Rin. "You, come with me."</p>
<p>Selphie lurched in front of Rin, her stance aggressive. "Straight for the prettiest, eh? Nobles. Yer' all the same. Disgustin'. Think you can take her as your wench for the night, do yer?"</p>
<p>"Don't be tiresome."</p>
<p>He strode towards Rin and pushed her forwards, the gloved hand at the small of her back far more gentle than the cold thunder on his face. The lord led her through the splintered gap in the fence and several paces back into the alley, where he stopped abruptly, and she turned to face him.</p>
<p>"What do you want with me?"</p>
<p>"You're a noble." It wasn't a question.</p>
<p>She stared defiantly back at him. "'Course I ain't."</p>
<p>"There's no need to insult my intelligence. It's clear as day that you're a noble. Clear to another noble, at least."</p>
<p>Rin found herself robbed of speech, and wondered if she should spit, as Selphie had, but before she could make a decision the lord frowned at her and spoke again.</p>
<p>"Your friends don't know, do they?"</p>
<p>She scuffed her toe in the dirt, defeated. "I... thought they didn't, but..."</p>
<p>"It seems to me that they don't. They know you are different, of course. But they probably think it's merely because you're a Westerner. They cannot see what I see."</p>
<p>His lofty tone made her look up in indignation. "And what is that, pray tell?"</p>
<p>"Your bearing, your manner." His eyes flicked to her shackled wrists. "Your hands, even. No gutter-raised thief has hands free of scars or burns. You will not be able to fool many more people here."</p>
<p>"What are you going to do with me?"</p>
<p>"That's for my lord to decide."</p>
<p>"Lord Kiros?" She repeated the name she'd heard him say to Selphie.</p>
<p>"No. If you were merely a thief, I would take you to Lord Kiros with the others. A noble Westerner as a captive, however, is a matter for the lord of the domain. Lord Laguna."</p>
<p>"So I must wait until he decides how much he can get for me?"</p>
<p>That seemed to offend the young lord, and he announced coldly, "Women are not bought and sold in Esthar."</p>
<p>Rin thought of the tavern girls, sharing their bodies night after night with traders and footsoldiers for a few silver coins, and wondered at how little this proud nobleman knew of the harsher realities of life among the lower folk of the East.</p>
<p>"M'lord," Zell called from the other side of the fence, and emerged through the gap. "Their accomplice has come to his senses."</p>
<p>"Enough to walk?"</p>
<p>Zell twisted his head and squinted, and Rin heard Irvine curse distantly. "Just about."</p>
<p>"Then bring them. We will return to the castle before nightfall."</p>
<p>He turned, and his long strides quickly took him to the next corner of the alley, and he was out of sight before Rin felt the prod at her waist. Zell was there, face expectant, with one hand propping up the elbow of a dazed Irvine, and the other firmly gripping Selphie's shackles.</p>
<p>"Start walkin', then."</p>
<p>He pushed past, and she fell in line, and the three thieves trudged slowly towards their punishment.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter II</strong>
</p>
<p>Dusk was settling upon the castle town of lower Esthar like a soft cloak, and the orange-yellow glow of paper lanterns, swaying gently outside the taverns and inns, cut through the fading daylight. The smells of kitchens poured out into the open; the heady aroma of soup stock that had been simmering since dawn hit Rin's nose, and she wondered how long it would be until they could eat, and what kind of gruel the dungeons would serve. Perhaps they would not be fed at all.</p>
<p>As the young lord led his captives along the winding streets, it grew apparent to Rin that they were not approaching the castle hill, but heading towards the town gate.</p>
<p>"Are we not going to the castle?" she asked Zell.</p>
<p>"M'lord and I have a task to complete before our return," he replied, pushing her cheerfully through the gate, the dark expanse of Esthar's Sea of Trees spreading ahead.</p>
<p>"In the forest?"</p>
<p>"We're going a-huntin'. Lord Laguna's mighty fond of fresh game."</p>
<p>"The lord sends a noble like you huntin' for his dinner?" Selphie said loudly in the swordsman's direction. "Pick his tea-leaves for 'im too, do yer?"</p>
<p>"Quiet." He walked on in silence, coming to a halt when he reached the first trees. "I will not join you this time," he told Zell, handing the blond man a sheathed knife from his belt, a hunter's weapon. "Pheasants or rabbit will do for tonight. Leave your pack and their weapons here. I will keep guard."</p>
<p>Zell nodded his affirmation, then bounded off into the woods, putting Rin in mind of her father's hunting hounds.</p>
<p>"Sit," the young lord commanded.</p>
<p>"You gonna make us?" jeered Selphie. Rin could see her point. Their hands were shackled, but their legs were free. She wondered how far they could run before he caught them.</p>
<p>The lord's fingers slid to the hilt of his sword. "Do I need to?" he asked softly.</p>
<p>Irvine rubbed his head wearily against his forearm, letting out a small groan. "Don't rile him up, darlin'. I'm still seein' stars." He sunk to the forest floor, stretching out his legs. Selphie harrumphed noisily, but folded her knees at his side, and Rin took a seat next to her, glad of the respite.</p>
<p>"Not together," the swordsman snapped, and pointed at Rin with a black-gloved hand. "You, there. You, that side. You, over there."</p>
<p>Rin shifted to the root of a tall cedar tree, and sat cross-legged on the forest floor, her eyes on the rising moon. It was almost full, and it cast its light down onto the Sea of Trees in unabashed silver brilliance, chasing away the gloom of the dusk.</p>
<p>The young lord drew a slim wooden case out of Zell's pack. He opened it, taking out a smooth rectangular waterstone, which he set at his feet, and then unsheathed his sword.</p>
<p>"What's the matter?" challenged Selphie. "Dulled your edge on Irvy's musket, did yer? I 'ope it stays like that."</p>
<p>"It will not."</p>
<p>He knelt, and moved the blade back and forth over the stone, one hand on the hilt and one hand carefully positioned at the top, tilting the edge as he worked, methodical and rhythmic. Rin saw that the frown had melted from his face; he was immersed in concentration.</p>
<p>When he was satisfied, he stopped and examined the blade. From the opposite tree, Irvine gave a low whistle.</p>
<p>"Damn thing must be sharper than Cerberus' teeth. I never saw a sword that could cut through metal before."</p>
<p>"Then you have never seen a true Esthari blade."</p>
<p>"Is it one o' those ancestral clan swords? Passed down father to son?" Interest lit up Irvine's face, and Rin thought him a fool to let his love of weaponry override a thief's vowed antipathy towards nobility.</p>
<p>"Some are passed from mother to son," the lord said quietly.</p>
<p>He held the blade up, its perfectly honed edge glinting in the moonlight, and Rin saw it clearly for the first time. The steel was inlaid with a delicate etching of a winged lion, its head raised to the heavens, the tendrils of its mane curling along the length of the blade.</p>
<p>"Looks like Lion Heart to me. I've heard o' that one." Irvine frowned, visibly racking his brain. "So that would make you-"</p>
<p>The young lord silenced him with a look, leaving Rin wondering how Irvine's sentence would have ended.</p>
<p>Branches rustled, and a heavy thud that was not the soft paws of a game beast sounded, making Selphie gasp out loud.</p>
<p>"Fiends?" she said, wide-eyed, but the answer was already upon them.</p>
<p>A Behemoth staggered through the trees, each of its sharp horns easily the size of Rin's arm, its eyes glowing fiercely behind a wild red mane. The swordsman moved faster than the speed of Rin's thoughts: he was already slashing at the beast's great, hulking shoulders, and it howled in pained fury that made the trees shake.</p>
<p>Rin marveled at the way he fought on without the slightest flinch, at the smoothness of his motions, the elegance of the twists and turns of his blade. She barely registered that the trees were still shaking, then with horror saw a violet-tinged shadow rear to its full, terrifying height, preparing to charge.</p>
<p>It was a second Behemoth, half as large again, and with darker coloring; Rin knew from countless stolen hours spent leafing through the bestiary in her father's library that this was a female, and more than likely the mate of the Behemoth the swordsman was about to kill.</p>
<p>Rin jumped to her feet. "Watch out!" she shrieked, and he withdrew his sword from the first beast's lifeless throat, and turned his head to her.</p>
<p>The female crashed into him, ramming his outstretched sword arm with the full force of her body. It sent him flying through the air, crashing and rolling at Rin's feet, his sword torn from his hand. He struggled quickly to his knees, but the way his sword arm hung limply made it obvious that the fall had injured him.</p>
<p>She knelt over him, pulling roughly at his good arm with her shackled hands. "Let us fight! Give us our weapons!"</p>
<p>He pushed her away, retrieved his sword from the forest floor with his left hand, and doggedly turned towards the Behemoth, its huge tail protruding from a cluster of trees. It was struggling to break free, the momentum of its charge so great that it had entangled itself in the forest. As soon as the beast could turn, it would charge again, and Rin knew the young lord could not fight as before.</p>
<p>She launched herself at his back, pounding her shackles against him. "Let us fight, you fool! Will you die from sheer pride?"</p>
<p>He shook her off, furious. "Fool, is it? <em>Fool </em>would be the man who released his prisoners and returned their weapons."</p>
<p>She scrabbled round to his front, and thrust out her wrists. "I give you my word. You say you know what I am - if you do, then you know that my word is not given lightly. <em>Let us fight</em>!"</p>
<p>Some shift appeared to take place in his eyes, and wordlessly he slid his blade through the metal of her shackles, and they dropped away from her hands. Rin darted to Zell's pack on the ground and tore the weapons from it, while Selphie and Irvine rushed to the swordsman, hands outstretched. He cut their shackles with great speed, then ran towards the Behemoth, his blade in his left hand, ready to fight. Selphie scrambled for her nunchaku, seizing it gratefully, and Rin pushed five of her throwing stars into Irvine's gloved hands.</p>
<p>"Just aim," she advised breathlessly. "It's the same principle."</p>
<p>He nodded, grabbed the weapons, and raced away.</p>
<p>The swordsman attacked the Behemoth's hind legs, and it seemed to work its way clear of the trees in sheer rage, twisting round and tossing its great head back and forth, attempting to skewer the swordsman with its horns. He evaded it, but Rin could see that his sword-slashes were weak; his left hand lacked the strength and precision of his dominant right. She drew her arm back, and hurled two stars at the beast. One lodged itself in the Behemoth's neck, the other grazing its snout, and it howled.</p>
<p>More stars pierced the violet hide, from Irvine's direction, and Selphie let out a fearsome battle cry as she leapt onto the fiend's back and struck its skull soundly with her nunchaku. The hollow sound reverberated, and she hit again in the same spot, this time producing a sickening crunch, and the Behemoth slumped instantly to one side. Selphie slid to the ground, and Rin dashed to meet her as she landed.</p>
<p>Rin grasped at Selphie's arm and embraced her tightly. "Run," she whispered fiercely in Selphie's ear. "Find Irvine, and flee into the woods. Don't stop running until your legs give way."</p>
<p>"But Rin, you-"</p>
<p>"I'll stay. I'll be fine. I'll make my own escape later. Go."</p>
<p>"I won't forget this." She kissed Rin on the cheek, and pulled back, her eyes sincere. "Not ever."</p>
<p>Rin did not watch her go. Instead she strode to where swordsman stood, still pulling his sword from the Behemoth's thick flesh, and faced him with her head high.</p>
<p>He turned to her in annoyance, and she derived no small pleasure from the look on his face as he slowly realized that two-thirds of his prisoners were gone, far into the woods.</p>
<p>His bloodied sword clattered to the ground, and he scowled as he ripped Rin's remaining throwing stars from her hands.</p>
<p>"So this is the value of your word?" he spat, and threw her weapons on the forest floor.</p>
<p>Rin did not flinch under the force of his wrath. "I can give my own word, and mine alone. I cannot give the word of others." She held out her wrists to him, her chin jutting forward in defiance. "And I will be true to my promise. I remain your prisoner."</p>
<p>He stared at her in silent consternation for so long that she found herself wanting to laugh. At the first hint of a curl to her lips, he scowled and shook the loose strands of hair from his eyes.</p>
<p>"I cut your shackles."</p>
<p>"Then find something else to bind me with."</p>
<p>The young lord frowned at her. He tugged at the red sash at his waist with his good hand, and she wondered foolishly for a moment if he would loosen his robes to reveal his flesh, but she soon realized he was wearing two, maybe three sashes, overlapping in an artful manner. He pulled one free, a slim rope made of thick black silk, and wound it around her wrists.</p>
<p>"Tell me your true name."</p>
<p>She was silent.</p>
<p>"Rin is the name of a common thief. We both know that you are no commoner."</p>
<p>"Rinoa."</p>
<p>He tied the knot neatly and let her wrists drop. "Lady Rinoa, then?"</p>
<p>"I am not your lady."</p>
<p>"Very well." He paused for a moment, then said, "I am Squall, of the Leonhart clan."</p>
<p>Rinoa wanted to tell him that she had neither asked nor cared, but held her tongue. His anger had faded, that much was clear, but she did not know how close she was to tipping him back into fury.</p>
<p>"Am I to call you Lord Squall?" she asked, with all the sweetness she could muster.</p>
<p>"No." His mouth twitched at the corner, the beginnings of a smile, and she was struck by the thought of how well a smile might look on him, should he allow it to take root.</p>
<p>"I am not your lord," he said, and there was something in his eyes that might almost have been humor.</p>
<hr/>
<p>They sat in silence under the trees, far from each other, as the night set in deeper. When she told Squall that he should bind her legs if he suspected she would flee, he acted as if she had not spoken. She took that to mean that they had now entered into a bargain of trust, a trust that he believed she would not break. He knew that broken trust meant broken pride; he was gambling on the notion that Rinoa of Galbadia was a proud woman.</p>
<p>And, she conceded, Rinoa of Galbadia was nothing if not a proud woman.</p>
<p>After a length of time passed, Zell emerged from the trees, the silver knife bloodied at his belt, three dead pheasants slung across one shoulder.</p>
<p>Rinoa watched as his eyes took in the Behemoth carcasses, the mess of broken shackles and throwing stars on the ground, and the silk sash around her wrists. His gaze sharpened as it settled on the young lord's arm hanging at an awkward angle.</p>
<p>"Your arm, m'lord."</p>
<p>Squall grunted in response. "A Potion will suffice."</p>
<p>Zell rummaged in the pockets of his loose, oversized brawler's garb and produced a small glass bottle stoppered with a cork. He threw it into the lord's lap.</p>
<p>Squall turned away from Rinoa as he unstoppered the bottle and dabbed the healing tincture onto his upper arm and shoulder. <em>Just like any other nobleman, </em>she thought to herself.<em> He cannot bear to show weakness before the eyes of a woman.</em></p>
<p>When he was finished, he stretched out the arm, rotating his wrist and flexing his fingers. "My thanks, Zell." He stood, and handed the empty bottle to his retainer.</p>
<p>"The others-" Zell began.</p>
<p>Squall shook his head curtly. "They are long gone, to my folly."</p>
<p>"I doubt they know the Sea of Trees as well as I do. Let me search for them."</p>
<p>"If you wish. I will hold little hope."</p>
<p>Zell set the pheasants down and strapped his pack to his back. "Then allow me to surprise you, m'lord."</p>
<p>"Do as you like, but return by morning."</p>
<p>Zell's eyes flicked to Rinoa. "And that one?"</p>
<p>"She will not leave my side. I will bring my lord at least one prisoner tonight."</p>
<p>Zell slipped back into the trees, and Squall gathered the pheasants by the necks, then motioned at Rinoa to stand and walk.</p>
<p>"To the castle, then."</p>
<p>On their return through the gate, the town was a mass of bright lanterns and lamp-lit windows, the warm night air filled with the lively sounds of taverns, the clanking of pots and ladles and gathered crockery, and the snarls and yelps of bickering cats, flitting shadow-like across the cobblestones. Rinoa followed Squall through the lower town, into the merchant's quarter and past the shuttered craftsmen's shops, and then higher up the winding stone steps to the slope of the castle hill, higher in the town than she had ever been. The few townspeople still out in the streets at this hour bowed their heads as soon as they caught sight of Squall's warrior's robes and the sword at his waist. Their curious eyes, and their whispers, followed Rinoa she walked behind him. She kept her gaze steady, straight ahead.</p>
<p>Squall stopped for a moment before the great wooden bridge to the moat, fiddling at his shoulder to readjust his hold on the pheasants, and Rinoa stopped too, lifting her head to the looming spectacle of Esthar Castle, its seven-storied keep rising high from a vast stone base. Each story of the keep was roofed with perfectly-fired identical clay tiles, the vertices of each roof decorated with ornate motifs of rearing dragons, phoenixes and lions. A wide viewing platform jutted out on the fifth story, its balcony painted in a resplendent deep blue, and the two smaller stories above it were covered entirely in brilliant silver leaf that shone in the full moonlight, so bright that Rinoa was forced to avert her gaze to the softer sheen of the tower's reflection in the moat below.</p>
<p>She tried to clear the awe from her eyes before Squall caught a glimpse of it, but the gleam of satisfaction on his face told her she had failed.</p>
<p>"This can hardly be your first sight of my lord's abode. Did you never raise your head from the gutters?"</p>
<p>"Of course I did. Your lord's castle is rather less impressive from the lower town. I had never approached the moat before."</p>
<p>"This is the view that my lord intends his noble visitors to see."</p>
<p>"Then he cares little for what his townspeople think of it?"</p>
<p>"He has no need to impress those that are already loyal to him."</p>
<p>Rinoa suppressed a smile as she imagined how Selphie would respond to such an arrogant statement. She returned her eyes to the tower of the keep, squinting against the brilliance of the silver walls, and her mind wandered to the lessons given by her history tutor, years before, under her father's roof.</p>
<p>
  <em>There is no gold in the East. It is not mined there. Esthar does, however, have an abundance of silver. The Esthari make use of it in amounts that we can barely imagine, and its value is accordingly lower to them. When ships from the West first sailed to Esthar, the traders could not believe their luck. Westerners continued to trade inferior goods for vast quantities of silver before the Esthari eventually discovered the deceit. It was the main reason, in fact, for Esthar's trade isolation over the past century.</em>
</p>
<p>Rinoa glanced back at the young lord at her side, and the small, impeccably polished silver stud that graced his ear. A silver chain glinted around his neck, before disappearing into the folds of his robes. The men of Galbadia wore only gold, heavy and lustrous. Squall's adornments were far simpler, but the moonlight struck them to produce an otherworldly shimmer that gold could never imitate.</p>
<p>He was watching her eyes now, and she blinked back at him, determined to reveal none of her thoughts.</p>
<p>He stepped onto the bridge, and beckoned to her to follow.</p>
<p>"Come. We will see what my lord makes of you."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Laguna's castle is somewhat based on Azuchi-jo, Oda Nobunaga's castle. The top of Azuchi-jo's keep was supposedly covered with gold leaf, not silver, but FFVIII's a silver-lovin' game in general and I figure Laguna's not *quite* as bling as Nobunaga was. (Erm, and the bit about Nobunaga's son burning the castle down a couple of years after it was built is probably not something Squall's going to do in this story. But no promises...)</p>
<p>p.s. Of course Samurai Squall has to wear Too Many Belts. It's his thing.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter III</strong>
</p>
<p>They walked through several gates, the black-robed guards bowing their heads to Squall as they passed. Rinoa stopped under the final gate and gazed up at the grandness of the keep, now so close that she could see every detail of its adornments, until she felt a tug on the sash at her wrists from her captor. He led her around to a door at the side of the castle, and into a small corridor, dark and unassuming, the wooden beams of its ceiling almost grazing the top of her head; Squall, who stood half a foot or so taller, had to remove the pheasants from his shoulders to bend under the doorway. A pair of maids carrying folded bedlinen turned into the corridor and slipped into an adjoining room, not before casting their eyes at Rinoa, glancing away quickly. This must be the servants' entrance, she realized. Perhaps Squall preferred not to attract attention to his arrival.</p>
<p>She twitched in surprise when one of the corridor's white walls shuddered and moved to the side, revealing itself to be a sliding paper door.</p>
<p>"Welcome back, young lord."</p>
<p>The speaker was an elegant, slender man with the dark coloring of a Southerner, his sharp features most likely those of an East Centran, Rinoa thought. His robes were oak-leaf green, and he wore his hair long, in tight, neat braids wrapped in dark teal silk thread.</p>
<p>Squall bowed his head in a perfunctory greeting. "Is my lord in his rooms?"</p>
<p>"Yes. Ward and I left him there after taking lunch together. I believe he is absorbed in his writing."</p>
<p>An impatient sound struggled its way out of Squall's throat, and Rinoa was surprised to see something like contempt furrow his brow. "Of <em>course</em> he is."</p>
<p>If the Centran noticed Squall's show of disrespect, he did not show it. His focus had shifted to Rinoa. "You have brought us a guest?"</p>
<p>"A prisoner," Squall said flatly.</p>
<p>"An unusual one." The man's eyes searched her face, and she tried not to let her composure buckle under the intensity of his scrutiny. A subtle smile grew on his lips. "Laguna will welcome the interruption, I am sure."</p>
<p>Rinoa wondered who this foreign man was, to speak of the Lord of Esthar without honorifics. She looked at Squall, who was occupying himself with the pheasants held under his arm. Inside the castle, there was precious little escape from the smell of the birds. She wrinkled her nose.</p>
<p>Squall gestured at the empty room beyond the sliding door. "Wait here." His eyes flicked to the Centran, who smiled and bowed.</p>
<p>"Fear not, young lord. I shall guard her while you make your delivery to the kitchens."</p>
<p>Squall's footsteps faded away, taking the stench of the pheasants with him, and Rinoa breathed a small sigh of relief.</p>
<p>The Centran was watching her. His face displayed interest rather than hostility, but all the same, she felt unnerved to be left alone with another stranger.</p>
<p>"It seems to me that you are very far from home," he said.</p>
<p><em>I should say the same of you, </em>Rinoa thought, but did not dare voice it. She turned her eyes to the corridor. "I have no home."</p>
<p>"I see. Laguna will be keen to hear your story, then."</p>
<p>She did not respond to that, and the man allowed her her silence. It was not long before Squall returned, his hands washed clean of the pheasants' blood, his face devoid of expression.</p>
<p>"My lord is waiting," he said to Rinoa, and addressing the Centran, added, "My thanks, Lord Kiros."</p>
<p>"<em>That </em>was Lord Kiros?" she whispered as Squall steered her along the hallway and up a flight of wooden steps. "The one who sentences criminals? But he is not Esthari. How did a Southerner end up-"</p>
<p>"That is not your concern."</p>
<p>She fell silent, and they walked up several more flights of steps, some as steep as ladders, Rinoa's balance all the more precarious with her hands bound together. She faltered once, and felt Squall's steadying hand immediately at her back, leaving her scowling in her embarrassment, determined not to miss her step a second time.</p>
<p>The last steps opened up into a hallway far grander than the lower floors. Rows of exquisitely painted paper doors were lit with the glow of dozens of dainty lanterns set in the floor, the wooden beams and floorboards gleaming, freshly oiled and scented. Squall stopped before a pair of sliding doors decorated with a magnificent many-hued phoenix amid swirling clouds, and knelt before it. He pulled at Rinoa's wrists, and she stumbled to her knees beside him. The Esthari did not have the custom of knocking on doors; a clenched fist would rip through the delicate paper. Instead they knelt, waiting for the occupant to acknowledge their presence.</p>
<p>"Come."</p>
<p>When the voice sounded from within, Squall stood, and slid the doors open. Rinoa followed behind, craning her head to look at the man seated at the knee-high writing desk on the reed mat floor in the center of the room.</p>
<p>The lord of Esthar, the great unifier of the East, was a long-haired man clad in unadorned indigo robes that fell more loosely around his chest than was seemly. He was perhaps the most disheveled noble Rinoa had ever seen. His hair was cut with gray and his face lined with sun; he was in his fifties, perhaps, she thought. And yet, his keen blue eyes and the physical energy he exuded were that of a man half his age. His was an open, likable face, and Rinoa was struck by the thought that she would have admired him immediately, were she not his captive.</p>
<p>Squall dipped his head only momentarily, leaving Rinoa astonished at the brusqueness of his manner before the lord of the domain.</p>
<p>"My prisoner, my lord. An accessory to thieves in the lower town."</p>
<p>Lord Laguna set down his ink-brush, and rose gracefully to his feet. He gazed at Rinoa, even more intently than Kiros had, and when he was finished, gave a little shake of his head. "Well. You present me with something of a problem."</p>
<p>She gaped at him. "What?"</p>
<p>"You are a noble, that much is obvious."</p>
<p>Rinoa glanced at Squall, who returned her look blankly.</p>
<p>"No, Lord Squall has told me nothing. It is clear from looking at you. Moreover, I have been hearing since last year that Lord Caraway of Galbadia is missing a daughter." He paused as she reeled in shock, then said amiably, "You have the look of Lady Julia, you know."</p>
<p>"H-" Words would not flow. She swallowed, and tried again. "How do you-"</p>
<p>"I am not Esthari born. I had another life in the West. Your mother and I crossed paths long ago, my lady- ah-"</p>
<p>"Rinoa," Squall supplied, and she shot him a look of pure loathing. He met it with a fractionally raised eyebrow.</p>
<p>"Lady Rinoa," Lord Laguna said, and smiled with more charm than she cared to notice. "Yes, that was the daughter's name. Also, as chance would have it, the name of Count Almasy's missing betrothed. Or so I am told."</p>
<p>Buried rage shot up from her belly to her chest, and she forgot herself. "I consented to <em>nothing! </em>I was never his, and I never will be!"</p>
<p>Her voice rang out loudly in the lord's room, making the sliding doors rattle. Both men looked on, silent and expressionless, and she could have sunk into the floor.</p>
<p>Lord Laguna ran his fingers along his chin. "Well. A problem, as I said."</p>
<p>Squall was staring at her. She could feel his eyes boring into the side of her face, and a heat crept up her skin.</p>
<p>"So. My prisoner is a runaway bride?" he said quietly.</p>
<p>She spun to face him. "Count Almasy was merely one of <em>many</em> things I was running from. In fact, he barely ranks among them. I have given him as much thought as he deserves: none at all."</p>
<p>"I see."</p>
<p>She thought for a moment she saw a glint of amusement in his eyes before she turned back to Lord Laguna, whose face was deep in thought.</p>
<p>"Well. Herein lies the problem. You conspired to steal from my loyal retainers; I can hardly release you. If I punish you, word will reach the West that I have Caraway's daughter in my dungeons." She opened her mouth to speak, and he shook his head. "Gossip travels across this world faster than the sunrise, it always does. That will give your father, or Almasy, an excuse to mount an attack on the East. Neither are friends of this country. They have waited long for such a chance. And if I forego your punishment, and return you to your father, as I ought-"</p>
<p>"No!" The fevered panic in her voice seemed to take Lord Laguna aback, and she fought hard to calm herself. "Please, my lord. Do not. If I am sent back to Galbadia, I will be traded to Count Almasy like a cart of grain."</p>
<p>Lord Laguna's head tilted to the side as he looked at her. He strode to the wide windows, turning his back to Rinoa and Squall, his eyes on the lights of the castle town far below. Rinoa's thoughts raced as she wondered how to plead her case to this man. He did not seem openly cruel, at least not yet. If she could appeal to his sense of reason, then perhaps-</p>
<p>The lord's mind was faster than hers; he was facing her again, his deliberation concluded. "Then I suggest we take another path altogether. We may avert war if I announce to Lord Caraway that you have entered into a betrothal with my son."</p>
<p>Rinoa stared back at him coldly. "I am not chattel to be passed from one lord to another."</p>
<p>"Don't discount the sincerity of my offer. I have not made it to others, and there are many here in Esthar who would vie for his hand. You already know that my son is a good man."</p>
<p>"How could I, when I have never met him?" she asked, incredulous. This was absurd.</p>
<p>She was baffled when Lord Laguna's expression became one of exasperation, and even more confused as she realized his eyes were on Squall.</p>
<p>"You didn't tell her."</p>
<p>"I had no reason to," Squall said, his tone bored.</p>
<p>She whirled round in disbelief. "<em>You</em>?"</p>
<p>Squall gave her a cursory glance, then scowled and turned his head to the window.</p>
<p>"The heir to this domain, yes," said Lord Laguna. "Doesn't that raise his value in your eyes? Honor, wealth and good looks." He smiled, a foolish father's proud grin. "I can't see what more a noblewoman could want from a husband."</p>
<p>She did not care to know if Squall was looking at her, and cast her eyes to the reed mat floor. "Almasy was handsome and rich. I did not want him."</p>
<p>"Honor makes all the difference, wouldn't you say?"</p>
<p>"I will be no man's wife. I am my own woman."</p>
<p>The lord was smiling at her again, in the manner of a man who found her refusal to be endearing, and she wished more than anything for a throwing star in her hand. He was about to speak further, when Squall cut him off.</p>
<p>"Father, stop. I have no desire to gain a wife who has been forced into marriage."</p>
<p>"Now, now. She will not be forced, and nor will you. I have merely stated my offer." He gestured at Rinoa's wrists. "Unshackle her, at the least, my son; have some manners. As of tonight, you are my guest, Lady Rinoa. I invite you to join me for dinner. You may avail yourself of the castle's bathhouse first."</p>
<p>Squall's face was unreadable as he untied the knotted silk sash. He did not meet Rinoa's gaze, and she thought that his cheeks were a darker color than before.</p>
<p>She snatched her hands away as soon as the knot was loose enough. With stiff fingers, she unwound the remaining loops of Squall's sash from her wrists and held it out in front of him, eyes pointedly on his hips.</p>
<p>"Allow me to return your belt, my young <em>lord.</em>"</p>
<p>There was now no mistaking the redness in Squall's face, nor the amused twinkle in the eyes of the lord of the domain as he watched his son awkwardly retie his sash.</p>
<hr/>
<p>A teenaged maidservant, barely able to hide her curiosity, led Rinoa wordlessly down the steps to the lower floors of the keep, and to the entrance of the lord's bathhouse. She handed Rinoa a clean cotton robe to wear after bathing, showed her how to fill the washbucket with hot spring water gurgling out of a wide bamboo pipe, and bowed as she slid the door closed.</p>
<p>Rinoa found that her hands trembled as she peeled off her filthy thief's garb and stowed it in a wicker basket as the maid had directed. The strangeness of her situation had become overwhelming. She had arrived here as a captive criminal, and yet the lord had seemingly elevated her back to the status of a noble lady, a skin she had shed willingly many months ago. She was alone - now naked and alone - in the lord of Esthar's castle. Instead of facing his punishment, she was somehow facing his hospitality.</p>
<p>The slick wet stones of the washroom floor threatened to bring her crashing down, and she stepped gingerly across them to squat down next to the washbucket, a stack of washcloths, and a thick slab of sweet-scented rice soap. The only thing Rinoa knew about Esthari baths was that one must wash thoroughly before stepping into the water, so she worked the soap into a dense foam, and set about removing the grime accumulated over several months spent in the underbelly of the castle town from her pores.</p>
<p>It took a lot of scrubbing before she felt clean enough to enter the tub. Her hair was the worst of it. She had kept it tied at the back of her neck for months, but that had not stopped it from working itself into the most dreadful knots that required gentle fingers and great patience to untangle. Once the strands started to squeak against the onslaught of soapy suds, and she could finally run her fingers through to the very end, she wrapped a washcloth around her head and stepped into the steaming hot water that filled the huge, cypress wood bath to the brim.</p>
<p>
  <em>Lord Caraway cleared his throat from the far side of the oak dining table. "And what have you been learning in your studies? Tell me."</em>
</p>
<p>"<em>We've been reading about the four corners of the world since Midwinter. This week is the Esthar chapter." Rinoa put down her knife and stared at her father earnestly. "Did you know that Esthari nobles take a hot bath every day? They even bathe outside, in the mountains. In the hot springs, amid the snow!"</em></p>
<p>
  <em>She shook her head in wonder. For Rinoa, to whom the word 'bath' meant an enforced weekly dunk in a copper tub heated with scalding kettle-water, the idea of actively pursuing cleanliness was unfathomable.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Lord Caraway snorted. "I wouldn't be surprised. They wander around in bath robes all day long, with slippers on their feet. They're an odd people, set in their ways. Won't allow guns into the country in case it hurts the pride of their swordsmen. I imagine that one regiment of Dolletian riflemen would be enough to set them straight." He stabbed a piece of venison, then turned the silver fork around in his hand, considering it. "They eat with a pair of sticks, Rinoa. A thoroughly backwards lot."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She frowned. Eating with sticks sounded difficult. She rather thought it made the Esthari seem clever, not backwards. "Well. I should like to go there one day." She jutted her chin out with stubbornness, and ate a spoonful of mashed swede.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Her father regarded her with eyebrows raised in derision."Well, you shan't. A noble lady of Galbadia will never have a reason to visit a place like that. You were born here, you shall marry here, and you shall die here."</em>
</p>
<p>And yet ten years later, here she was soaking in an Esthari bath. Caraway was half the world away, and his daughter was now the captive of a man who, against all likelihood, seemed to have known her long-dead mother.</p>
<p>A man who, within minutes of meeting her, had reminded her that her only worth was as a bride in yet another unwanted marriage. Rinoa grimaced as she rose out of the hot water, her skin as pink as boiled shrimp. Caraway and Laguna were vastly different in manner, but their thinking led to the same conclusion. One that she would never accept.</p>
<p>The white cotton robe was cool against her damp skin, welcoming and soft. She tied the sash around her waist and patted her hair dry, wishing that she could deny how good it felt to be clean. That there was a small, shameful part of her that rejoiced at tasting the pampered life of a noble lady once more. Rinoa pushed those feelings away. She had forsworn her nobility; that would not change, no matter what opulence Laguna had to offer her.</p>
<p>The same maid was waiting outside the door to the baths. She blinked in surprise at Rinoa's appearance, and Rinoa wondered just how much dirt had come away in the water.</p>
<p>"A guest chamber is ready for you, m'lady."</p>
<p>Rinoa followed her to a pair of paper doors on the third floor of the keep, and when the maid opened them, the grassy smell of freshly-laid reed matting assailed Rinoa's nose.</p>
<p>"Lord Laguna dines in an hour," the maid said, bowing as she left.</p>
<p>Rinoa, filled with a sudden lethargy, sank to her knees on the smooth matted floor. The room was simple, but elegant, with a folded cotton pallet for sleeping - at least four times the thickness of the beds she had slept on in her town lodgings - and a pale blue Esthari silk robe laid out on top of it, presumably for Rinoa to wear to dinner. The painting on the interior side of the paper doors was a scene of spring blossoms against a backdrop of smoky blue mountains reaching up into the sky. Rinoa's eyes followed the distinctive shape of the rocks, familiar from a book she had seen in her childhood. Trabia Canyon, her memory told her. At the very top, a Ruby dragon spread its wings, a flash of orange flame streaming from its jaws.</p>
<p>Rinoa shuffled closer, and ran her finger softly over the painting. She could make out each delicate brushstroke, some barely thicker than a single bristle-width. There was no denying the sheer time and expense poured into every detail of this castle, and she marveled anew at Laguna's ambition, and the power he had shown in bringing it to reality.</p>
<p>She bent to examine the robe, the long, draping tails of its sleeves covered with intricate embroidery, depicting a cascade of white feathers against the blue silk. A broad sash lay folded in a square next to the robe, as well as a black lacquered comb, the sort that was used to hold an Esthari lady's hair in place.</p>
<p>Rinoa pulled the robe around her shoulders, surprised at how heavy it was, and did her best to tie the ends of the sash in a bow at the back of her waist. It looked nothing like the perfect practiced knots of a true Easterner, but it would have to do. She admitted defeat with the comb, however. No matter how hard she tried, she could not work out how to use it to keep her hair up. It stubbornly fell away every time, and Rinoa eventually slid it against her temple as a half-hearted adornment.</p>
<p>She sat with her back against the folded pallet, wanting to lie down but afraid to crease the robe. Her eyelids were heavy, the heat of the bath still lingering in her body, and she dozed where she sat, until a shuffling outside the paper door alerted her to the maid's presence.</p>
<p>"Come in," she said.</p>
<p>"Are you dressed?" The voice was neither female nor deferential. <em>Why him?</em> Rinoa thought as she stumbled to the door and slid it open.</p>
<p>"Yes, Squall, I am," she said haughtily, to be met with a look on his face that she was entirely unprepared for.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Count Almasy: Okay, if you don't know this, go and google "Count Almasy" and pay particular attention to his hairline. Especially around the sides. Yep, Nomura based Seifer's name <em>and appearance</em> on Ralph Fiennes' character in The English Patient! While the Squall/River Phoenix connection is well-known, I feel like this one snuck under the radar.</p>
<p>(This means Seifer is Voldemort, right? Yeah, it totally does. You can't convince me otherwise.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter IV</strong>
</p>
<p>"Why are you wearing that?"</p>
<p>"Your father's maid laid it out for me." He was furious, perhaps not at her, but it was the first time she had seen real heat in his eyes; his anger in the forest was nothing compared to this. "Have I wronged you somehow?"</p>
<p>"Those are betrothal robes." The disgust was plain on Squall's face, and she realized that he was no more keen on the idea of marriage than she was.</p>
<p>"I- I did not know that." Rinoa felt color creep into her cheeks. "How could I know such a thing? Let me change, then. Bring me another robe."</p>
<p>"I am not your maid. Come. You can demand a change of garments from my lord at dinner." He stepped back into the hallway without looking at her.</p>
<p>"You will join us?" she asked, surprised.</p>
<p>Squall turned and threw a scornful look in her direction. "Would you prefer to be alone with him?"</p>
<p>"No." She matched his glare with one of her own.</p>
<p>He must have bathed, too, as his face was freshly shaven, his hair clean and damp. The clothes he wore now were grander than the simple black garment he had worn for travel. This robe was black, too, but embroidered finely with a dark gray silk thread with a motif of a lion, rearing and angry, its flowing mane spreading across Squall's chest and onto his upper arm. He had removed his hide gloves, revealing slender fingers with neatly clipped nails, and a heavy silver ring on the third finger of his right hand, fashioned into the shape of a lion's head, its eyes closed in slumber.</p>
<p>He cleared his throat. "When you have had your fill of staring at me-"</p>
<p>"You flatter yourself, my lord," she said tartly.</p>
<p>"Very rarely."</p>
<p>She pushed past him in an awkward hobble, finding the robe far more difficult to walk in than a Galbadian formal dress.</p>
<p>He caught up, reaching her side in two easy steps. "I thought we had already established that you need not address me as your lord."</p>
<p>"That was before I knew you were heir to this domain."</p>
<p>"You are not an Esthari, Rinoa. And you inject far too much poison into the word. Stop using it."</p>
<p>"As you wish. <em>Squall</em>."</p>
<p>It pleased her how deeply he scowled at her tone. He fell into a sullen silence, and led the way to Lord Laguna's dining room.</p>
<p>The room was grander than the lord's writing room, with exquisite panels of paper-thin wood carved into complex patterns of flowers, trees, birds and dragons, slotted in between the ceiling beams and the tops of the sliding doors. Lord Laguna, clad in the same robes as before, reclined on a red silk cushion, his legs sprawled on the reed mat floor. Upon their entrance to the room, he leapt to his cotton-socked feet.</p>
<p>"Welcome, my young lady." He bowed, not in the Esthari way but in the manner of a Galbadian servant, one arm sweeping theatrically to the side, and she did not know whether he mocked her.</p>
<p>Lord Laguna raised his head and grinned widely, his eyes taking in Rinoa's appearance with approval. "You are quite a picture when you are clean. Wouldn't you say so, Squall?"</p>
<p>"Are you satisfied with your trickery?" Squall spat. "She does not even know what that color means."</p>
<p>"Oh, hush, my son. At least let us enjoy our meal before you unleash your anger." Laguna gestured to two more cushions on the opposite side of the room and motioned for them to be seated. Squall strode to the furthest cushion and knelt stiffly, his face turned away; Rinoa could not make out his expression, but the set of his jaw told her enough.</p>
<p>She arranged her legs on the closer cushion, and tried to keep her eyes from locking with Laguna's admiring gaze.</p>
<p>"That shade of blue becomes you, Lady Rinoa. You could pass for a high-born lady of the East." He pointed at her head with an open palm. "Except for your hair. An Esthari maiden would not leave it loose."</p>
<p>She fiddled with the comb at her temple, embarrassed. "I tried to use this, but I could not make it stay."</p>
<p>"Allow me, then." He crossed the room to kneel at her side, and set about her hair with deft fingers before she could protest. When it was done, he stood back and surveyed the results of his work with a smile that was almost tender.</p>
<p>Rinoa patted her hair, and found that it was set firmly in place. "My lord is skilled in surprising ways."</p>
<p>"I raised a daughter, once." The lord's eyes were wistful.</p>
<p>"Not his by blood," Squall cut in bluntly. "And she no longer speaks to him."</p>
<p>Lord Laguna was silent as he returned to his cushion. "Ellone feels that I wronged her. Perhaps I did, perhaps I did not. The passage of time has not made the matter clearer for either of us."</p>
<p>Squall's disdain was clear across his face, and Rinoa was relieved when the sounds of maidservants outside the doors broke the rising tension in the room.</p>
<p>Lord Laguna called out to them to enter, and three maids brought a succession of black lacquer trays laden with dozens of tiny ceramic dishes, each containing a different food. The bowls of rice were laid last, and Rinoa blinked at the pure white of each soft, gleaming grain; the only rice she had ever eaten in the lower town was a dull beige mixture cut with cheaper grains like millet or barley.</p>
<p>When the feast was fully laid, the maids left. The two lords put their hands together and bowed their heads, then picked up their dining sticks to start the meal, and she copied their motions as best as she could. Unsure where to start, Rinoa settled on a small lacquered bowl and sipped from the cloudy soup within, laced with delicate slivers of seaweed. Laguna watched as she set it down carefully on the tray.</p>
<p>"Have you grown accustomed to the Eastern food yet?" he asked.</p>
<p>"I have become familiar with the kind of fare that could be bought in the lower town for two coppers. But this..." She waved a hand inadequately at the meal. "...is quite different."</p>
<p>Laguna nodded in acknowledgement of her awe. "Miss anything from Galbadia? I must say I do. It's been years since I had-"</p>
<p>Squall cleared his throat. "Of course. Now I see why my father is so keen to have a Galbadian daughter-in-law. He has finally found someone to reminisce with him about curdled sow's milk."</p>
<p>"<em>Cow's </em>milk, Squall. And that's no way to talk about cheese. It's the food of the gods."</p>
<p>"It sounds thoroughly disgusting." Squall glowered into a bowl of bitter boiled greens.</p>
<p>Laguna was undeterred. "You ever had those soft cheeses they make in Dollet? They still make those?"</p>
<p>"I believe so. My father is fond of Dolletian cuisine. No doubt he hoped to feast on it at my wedding to Almasy." She said it with bitterness, and Laguna smiled in a show of sympathy.</p>
<p>"Your wedding here will be a simpler one, my lady."</p>
<p>Rinoa looked him straight in the eye, determined to make her resolve absolutely clear. "I do not wish to be married here. I reject your offer, my lord."</p>
<p>Laguna laced his fingers together and placed them under his chin. "But you must admit it is an elegant solution. To more than one problem." He inclined his head towards Squall. "This castle must have an heir, one day. I cannot pass it on to a son who remains unmarried."</p>
<p>Squall, his face stony, did not respond, instead focusing on pushing a slice of grilled pheasant to the side of his plate and bathing it in a dark-colored sauce.</p>
<p>"Despite Lord Kiros' skillful efforts to introduce a noblewoman from the high-born Esthari lines, my son has refused them all. Apparently he is content with his sword and his duties, and has no time for matters of the heart." Laguna's eyes crinkled at the sides. "What were your words the last time, my son? Do you recall?"</p>
<p>"No." Squall's answer came through gritted teeth, and he hid his face in a sip of rice wine.</p>
<p>"Then I shall tell you. 'Perhaps I might consider it if you find me a spirited one'. Those were your words. Well. Here she is."</p>
<p>"A <em>spirited</em> one?" said Rinoa, her face sweet but her tongue edged with ice. "Am I a wild chocobo?"</p>
<p>Laguna threw back his head and laughed. "You see? Perfect for you in every way, lad."</p>
<p>Squall set down his cup, his jaw so tight that it could have cut through the paper doors. "My lord never knows when to stop joking. It is his affliction. I am sure it will be the death of him, in the end."</p>
<p>He stood and left the room, three quarters of his meal still sitting uneaten on the tray.</p>
<p>Laguna leaned towards Rinoa, eyes twinkling. "Think that was a threat?"</p>
<p>"My lord, it seems to me that perhaps you ought not tease your son quite so much."</p>
<p>"Nonsense. It is every father's duty to tease his son." He chuckled to himself and took a hearty swig of rice wine.</p>
<p>She was beginning to understand Squall's sourness towards this man. "Do you truly intend to have us marry, against both our wills?</p>
<p>"No, no," he said through a mouthful of pheasant meat. "I intend for both of you to realize, in the natural course, that there is no better match. You may remain here as my guest until you do."</p>
<p>"I do not seek a 'better match'. I seek no match at all."</p>
<p>"My son would say the same. I have no doubt that he is delighted to meet someone as stubborn as himself."</p>
<p>Rinoa was sure that the tips of her ears were red with anger now, and not trusting herself to speak, she busied herself with her meal.</p>
<p>"You will discover in time that I am right. Until then, please enjoy the life of a noble of the East."</p>
<p>"The life of a captive," she said quietly.</p>
<p>"Would you prefer to be my captive, or your father's? Lord Caraway will keep you under lock and key, and with much less hospitality than I. And as for Count Almasy... Well, I would not wish to speculate on how he might treat you."</p>
<p>Her blood ran cold at that, and she laid down her dining sticks. "My lord, now you are the one who is issuing threats."</p>
<p>Laguna seemed to be genuinely dismayed by the accusation. "I am sorry that you think so." He sighed. "Lady Rinoa, I am merely stating your choices. I believe that my home, and my son, are the best way to keep you safe and with some chance of happiness. I cannot see safety in your return to the West, much less happiness."</p>
<p>"Why must my choices be between which man <em>owns </em>me? Why can I not live as my own woman, and carve my own path?"</p>
<p>Her outburst elicited only pity from the lord, who shook his head. "This is our world. It has always been so. The only women who rise above the ways of men are Sorceresses. And if you know any of the history of this land, you must know that we do not speak well of Sorceresses here."</p>
<p>"I am merely a thief, my lord."</p>
<p>He smiled into his wine cup. "Not any longer, my lady."</p>
<hr/>
<p>Rinoa awoke in her room in the castle the next morning to daylight seeping in under the wooden shutters. The heavy silk quilt and the impossibly soft pallet stuffed full of wadded cotton had made for the most comfortable night she had spent since leaving Galbadia, and yet sleep did not come easily. Keenly aware that she remained at the lord's mercy, she woke at the slightest sound in the corridor outside, and found it hard to settle again afterwards, her heart racing.</p>
<p>She pulled the quilt back and staggered to her feet to open the shutters, screwing up her eyes against the bright sunshine that streamed in. Laguna had given her a room that overlooked the moat, and it sparkled up at her in morning greeting. A lone egret was fishing at the waterside; the sight of its snow-white feathers turned her mind to the robe that had so angered Squall, and she cursed Laguna under her breath for his presumptuousness.</p>
<p>The betrothal robe was gone now, taken away by a maid who appeared after Rinoa's return from dinner to replace it with a different garment. This new robe was cut from dove-gray silk painted with hydrangea flowers, their lilac petals in cloud-like clusters, with a pale pink sash the width of both her hands. She shed the cotton night-robe, and dressed as well as she could, tying the sash at the front then twisting it around to her back. She could not replicate Laguna's skill with the comb, but found a way to knot her hair at the base of her skull and dig the comb in at the roots. Perhaps it would hold for a few hours.</p>
<p>She slid open the paper doors to her room. The corridor was empty; there were no guards. Was she free, then, to roam as she liked? Had Laguna truly meant that she was now his guest? She shuffled along the polished floor, and set about exploring the Lord of Esthar's castle.</p>
<p>She headed for the lower floors, thinking that an interruption to the lord's rooms at the top of the keep would not serve in her favor, and found very few doors to be open until she reached the kitchens. There she was given hot green tea, a bowl of rice, soup and a plate of grilled fish by one of the maids, an older woman who took Rinoa aside afterwards, and repinned her hair for her. Rinoa attempted to linger to make conversation with the servants, but they were busy with their duties and clearly uneasy at being watched by a strange Western guest of the lord's, so she slipped away and turned down another hallway. Would she be dragged back in shackles, she wondered, if she tried to simply walk out of the gates? There were guards and sentries there, of course. She did not feel ready to test the limits of Lord Laguna's hospitality quite so soon.</p>
<p>She was nearing the side door now, where she had entered with Squall the night before, and was gripped by an urge to dash straight through it. She stopped suddenly, and flattened herself against the wall. There was a man on the other side of the open door, in the courtyard, his limber body twisting through a monk's stretching exercises. She saw a flash of blond hair, and called out his name.</p>
<p>"Zell!"</p>
<p>He popped his head through the doorway, blinking at the gloom, searching for the owner of the voice.</p>
<p>"Here," Rinoa said, stepping into the light near the entrance.</p>
<p>Zell looked at her quizzically, then immediately broke eye contact, mortified. In Esthar, just as in Galbadia, it was a grave misstep for a manservant to look unguarded on an unknown noblewoman.</p>
<p>"Ahh..." he stumbled, staring at the floor. "Forgive me, my good lady, I, ah-"</p>
<p>"Zell, it's me. The thief."</p>
<p>He abandoned all pretense of etiquette and stared at her openly. "You don't look much like a thief now."</p>
<p>"A thief can take many faces," she told him imperiously. "Last night in the forest, my friends - what became of them?"</p>
<p>"Lost 'em, you'll be pleased to hear. I tracked their boot-marks for an hour, maybe two, until the light failed me. The moon was on my side, the clouds were on theirs." His mouth twisted into a rueful grin. "The clouds won."</p>
<p>Relived, Rinoa privately offered her thanks to the gods of theft and trickery. "I knew you'd never catch them."</p>
<p>"You might've been right. I could only track the musketman's prints, as it was. No sign of the girl's boots. She must be as light-footed as a cockatrice."</p>
<p>"There's none with lighter feet in all of Esthar," said Rinoa loyally, and wished Selphie and Irvine all the luck she could imagine. "Is Squall not with you today?"</p>
<p>Zell looked over his shoulder in an exaggerated manner. "Not as far as I can see, m'lady."</p>
<p>She ignored his gentle mockery, despite liking him all the more for it. "He left the lord and I in the middle of dinner, in something of a fury."</p>
<p>Zell did not appear surprised at that. "M'lord will have his reasons. He's not the type to talk about his moods, and I've learned not to ask."</p>
<p>"Then he has not told you of Lord Laguna's plans for me? The lord intends for us to marry. Squall and I refused. Lord Laguna appears to be under the impression I will change my mind."</p>
<p>"Ah." Zell stroked his ear thoughtfully. "I heard they had quarreled. I'm startin' to see why."</p>
<p>"Squall told you that?" she pressed.</p>
<p>"Not m'lord, no." A sparkle came to his eyes. "One of the maids."</p>
<p>A manservant passed them with a bundle of firewood, and Zell bobbed his head at Rinoa. "I'd best be away with myself, m'lady."</p>
<hr/>
<p>She made her way back to her room, and was presently brought an array of dishes for lunch, which she ate alone. Her afternoon exploration led her to the castle garden, which she reached through a wide pair of doors on the second floor, the garden itself carved into the hillside of the mound that stood at the rear of the castle. Several sets of wooden slippers were arranged neatly by the doors. Rinoa found a pair that seemed small enough for a woman's feet, and slid her socked toes into them.</p>
<p>She found Kiros standing in the middle of a stone walkway not far from the doors to the garden, speaking quietly to a huge, burly Western man with the broadest shoulders Rinoa had ever seen, dressed in the same green robes. When she approached, Kiros bowed, and introduced her to the larger man, naming him as Ward. Ward nodded to her, and made a complex hand gesture to Kiros, which Kiros translated for Rinoa.</p>
<p>"He welcomes you to this castle, and hopes its lord has not caused you too much trouble. Would you care for a tour of the garden, Lady Rinoa?"</p>
<p>She accepted Kiros' offer, and followed him along the stone path, inhaling the different scents that mingled in the warm outdoor air, the heady aromas of pine and cedar, damp earth and faraway smoke.</p>
<p>The castle garden was very different in character to the gardens of Galbadia, all manicured lawns and beds of colorful flowers. Lord Laguna's garden was a composition of more subdued tones: shaped pine trees whose needles were so dark they were almost blue, deep green moss on the ground, fine white gravel raked into perfect lines, the paler green of young bamboo swaying in the breeze, and clusters of verdant Eastern maples that would transform into a sea of vivid red come the autumn.</p>
<p>Kiros led her to a wide expanse of the white gravel interspersed with large stones, the raked lines curving gently around each rock in a ripple effect.</p>
<p>"Do you see the pattern of rocks? They are meant to represent islands in the sea."</p>
<p>Rinoa bent her head forward and peered at the formation of moss-covered rocks, feeling sure that it resembled shapes she had seen in Lord Caraway's hide-bound copy of <em>Atlas of the Eastern Lands</em>.</p>
<p>"The Island Closest to Heaven, and the Fulcura Archipelago?"</p>
<p>"Very good, my lady," Kiros smiled. "Ward will be pleased to know that his work has found an appreciative eye at last. He tends to it with his rake every morning."</p>
<p>She turned her head over her shoulder to look at Ward, who was trimming the sides of a squat pine tree into a rounded shape with a large pair of steel shears.</p>
<p>"Why does he not speak? Is he a mute?"</p>
<p>"An old war injury. From our days in the West, before we crossed the Great Sea with Laguna."</p>
<p>"What brought the three of you to this land? I have never heard the story."</p>
<p>"Adventure. New horizons. New lives. Your father played a part in it, too. Laguna was heartbroken when your parents' betrothal was announced."</p>
<p>He watched her carefully as he said the last part, so she masked her reaction as best as she could.</p>
<p>"And you? Why did you follow?"</p>
<p>Kiros' eyes swept across the garden, his lips tugging to one side. "Laguna is an easy man to follow. Life is more... eventful when he is around. I must admit though, on our arrival in Esthar, I would never have imagined all this. Laguna has a way of making things happen."</p>
<p>They walked on, and Rinoa stopped before a patch of tall white lilies, bending to inhale their scent.</p>
<p>"These seem rather out-of-place here." At Kiros' raised eyebrow, she hastily added, "Forgive me, I didn't intend to be rude."</p>
<p>"No, you are correct. They would not normally be part of a classical Eastern garden. Laguna ordered that there shall always be white lilies blooming here, in memory of Lady Raine. They were her favorite flower."</p>
<p>"Lady Raine?"</p>
<p>"Lord Squall's mother. She died in his infancy."</p>
<p>Rinoa tried to suppress a rush of unexpected emotion for her captor. She could not deny the sense of a strange affinity with him. They were both motherless nobles, raised in grand castles, bound by their fathers' expectations at every turn. She understood better, now, the way he looked at Laguna. She knew well the great aching gap, the emptiness where a mother's presence should have been, and the frustration and disappointment of a child who desperately needed its father to play the role of both parents, yet found him to fall short on both counts. Lord Caraway had always had better things to do than to notice what kind of person his daughter was becoming; perhaps Laguna was similarly blind, unable to see outside the path to his own goals.</p>
<p>"Was she an Esthari noble?" she asked, recalling Squall's words to Irvine about his sword.</p>
<p>"Yes, the last of a very old line. The marriage was beneficial on all sides: the Leonhart clan secured a male heir, Laguna acquired the legitimacy he needed to raise an army against the tyrant, and the nobility of Esthar were gifted with a champion who would free this land from the Red One's grip for them. Three champions, should you count Ward and I at his side, of course."</p>
<p>"Then it was a match of convenience, not of love?"</p>
<p>"Love often grows quickly within such a union. It may surprise you, Lady Rinoa."</p>
<p>Kiros' meaningful glance told her that he was no longer speaking about Laguna and Raine, and she felt heat rise up the back of her neck.</p>
<p>He tilted his head and returned to gazing at the lilies. "You are young enough to think that love and convenience are mutually exclusive. At my age, one can see that most marriages start with one and end in the other. Those that are lucky achieve both. Laguna and Lady Raine's match was one of love; of that you may have no doubt."</p>
<p>"How sad that she died so soon."</p>
<p>"Indeed. It is hard to say whose loss is greatest, Laguna's or Lord Squall's."</p>
<p>After Kiros excused himself to return to his duties, she settled on a rock near to the garden's ornamental pond and watched the insects play on the surface of the water. A dragonfly, its body a brilliant metallic blue, settled on a long blade of grass by the pond's edge, and stopped there, soaking up the afternoon sun.</p>
<p><em>So Squall and I are alike in some ways</em>, she thought. <em>But that is no reason to marry him. They take me for a fool, all of them.</em></p>
<p>The dragonfly lifted its wings and flew away, free to seek its own fate beyond the outer walls of the castle, and she knew that she must do the same, no matter the cost.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter V</strong>
</p>
<p>Two, and then three days passed in the castle, and still Squall did not return. Rinoa disliked the ease with which she had lapsed back into a life of high-born comfort. She knew she ought not think it natural to dine on the finest foods and dress in the finest silks, that it was an insult to the commoners of both East and West who could never dream of such things; and yet, she found that those luxuries had become second nature after mere days. It left her with a bitter aftertaste of self-loathing. Her only words were those exchanged with the maids, or in passing greeting to Kiros or Ward: polite, ladylike murmurs, as if her very voice had been taken prisoner. The unnatural quiet of the castle pressed heavily upon her. Rinoa desperately missed the raucous shouts and songs of the taverns, and yearned to listen to Selphie's loose tongue spreading scurrilous rumor and untruth long into the night. She even conceded that she missed Irvine, with his knowing smile and lazy drawl. His coarseness and inability to be serious had not endeared him to her at first, but somewhere along the way, he had become her thief-kin, just as Selphie had been.</p>
<p>Was that all over now? The pair could be leagues away by now, with no means for her to find them. Rinoa had to face the likelihood that the life she had led with Selphie and Irvine would never be reclaimed. She could live as a thief again, maybe, if she made her escape. But she would have to start once more from the beginning. Alone.</p>
<p>Such thoughts carved a crease into her brow as she sat on the rock by the pond, a spot that she had claimed as her own over the past three days. She glanced up to see that one of Laguna's maids had stopped a few feet away on the moss-edged path, bowing her head.</p>
<p>"My lord is in the teahouse. He wonders if you might join him."</p>
<p>Rinoa nodded her assent - was there really any choice? - and followed the maid to a small outhouse encircled by young maple trees. Its wooden sliding doors were already open, and Laguna smiled at her from within. He was kneeling beside a black tray that held a gleaming silver kettle, a ceramic bowl and two cups, some sort of utensil crafted from dozens of fine slivers of bamboo, and a small lacquered canister.</p>
<p>"Welcome, Lady Rinoa."</p>
<p>The maid bowed in parting and disappeared into the gardens, while Rinoa hitched up the bottom of her robe to climb the steps up to the raised platform of the teahouse.</p>
<p>Laguna picked up the canister, twisted its glossy dark red lid off, and used the tiny scoop inside to measure finely-powdered green tea into the bowl.</p>
<p>"Have you taken Esthari tea before?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Not in this manner, no." She knelt opposite him on the reed mat floor.</p>
<p>"Like all Esthari rituals, there is a precise order to it." He poured in a small amount of steaming water from the kettle, and used the bamboo tool to whisk the mixture rapidly until a smooth green froth crept up the sides of the bowl. He tilted it gently to one side, and smiled in satisfaction at the layer of pale foam that coated the thick liquid.</p>
<p>"My lord has become quite the tea master," Rinoa said as he divided the drink between the two wide, artfully misshapen cups.</p>
<p>"I have come to appreciate the way of tea. Yet there are mornings when I would gladly slay an army for a handful of Centran coffee beans." He gave a crooked smile.</p>
<p>"If Esthar were to allow traders back to these shores, then you could-"</p>
<p>"The East is not yet ready for that. Perhaps in my son's reign, but not during mine, I think." Laguna set one cup in front of Rinoa, and the other before himself. "Take it in your hands. You must turn the cup three times. No," he corrected her, "a quarter-turn, to your right. Like so. Now you may sip."</p>
<p>She did so, and the bitterness of the tea tingled at her tongue, the fine bubbles of the foam dispersing inside her mouth. It was such an odd feeling that she fought hard to swallow it down. It would not do, she was sure, to splutter tea from her nose all over the lord's silken robes. She could not identify the sentiment in his eyes as he watched her.</p>
<p>"Tell me what you remember of your mother. Anything at all," he said at length.</p>
<p>"Very little. I cannot even picture her face." That was not wholly true; there were glimpsed images, fragments of buried memories that had not been claimed by the plasticity of a child's growing mind, but those moments were Rinoa's, hers alone, and she would not hand them over to this man so easily.</p>
<p>"Her face was much like yours. Did she sing to you?"</p>
<p>There was one memory, very far back, of a sweet voice lulling her asleep in her nursery crib. "I suppose she must have."</p>
<p>"She had the most beautiful singing voice, and a talent for crafting songs." His expression had taken on a faraway look, one that spoke of more familiarity than Rinoa wished to imagine.</p>
<p>"May I ask my lord a question?"</p>
<p>"Ask."</p>
<p>She hesitated. "Why do you spend so much time at your writings? What do you write?"</p>
<p>Rinoa was not sure why she asked that, when she had so many other questions: about Julia and Raine, about the daughter who had turned her back on Laguna, and about Squall, too, if she was honest with herself. It seemed to be the right question, however. Laguna's face broke into a wide, eager smile.</p>
<p>"My journal. My mark on this world will be brief, I know that as well as any other. This castle may be grand, but it will be in rubble soon enough. But to leave <em>stories</em>," his eyes gleamed as he said the word. "To leave memories of our world and our lives; there is surely no greater way to preserve one's spirit for the ages. <em>That</em> is why I write."</p>
<p>He leaned towards her, his fingers wrapped around the cup. "During the past few days I have been telling the story of a fair Galbadian maiden who fled to the East, disguised as a thief, and found a home for herself in the Lord's castle."</p>
<p>She did not want to hear any more of the narrative Laguna had decided upon. "A person should have the right to tell their own story. It was no disguise, my lord. I am a thief. I stole from your people."</p>
<p>He dismissed her admission with a wave of his hand. "But you will not again. Lady Rinoa, the Reformed Thief, bride of the Young Lion and heir to Esthar Domain. A stirring tale like that will pass into legend. Songs will be sung about you."</p>
<p>"I have not accepted your offer." She forced herself to drain the last of the cup, even the bitter dregs at the bottom, the powdery clumps catching in her throat.</p>
<p>The lord took a sip of tea, and beamed at her in that way of his that was both charming and infuriating. "Not yet."</p>
<hr/>
<p>A fourth, and then a fifth day came, with little to break the monotony for Rinoa. She took the decision to venture further up to the higher floors of the keep. Laguna had chided her for restricting her explorations to the lower floors - <em>Did I not say that you were my guest, my lady? - </em>so she took him at his word, and climbed the stairs to the fifth floor, smaller in area than those below, with grander and more elaborate paintings on the sliding doors that lined the hallway. The viewing platform she had seen from below was somewhere on this floor; she hoped to find it. Rinoa chose a panel painted with a blue dragon, its vast wingspan spreading across both doors, and gently slid it open with her fingers.</p>
<p>This was not the viewing platform, though light poured in from a large window. The room was fashioned more like a Western study, with wooden floorboards instead of reed matting, and the shelves built into the walls were stacked with books of all sizes. Rinoa gave a start as a girl appeared from behind a shelf, a book in her hand. She appeared to be around Rinoa's own age, or perhaps younger, and wore the simple white cotton robes of a castle maid. Her hair set her apart from the others, however. Instead of being pinned neatly into place on the top of her head, it was coiled in a tight braid that hung down to her shoulder blades.</p>
<p>"Lady Rinoa? You are, aren't you? Lord Laguna said you might pay a visit." She set the book down on the nearest shelf and bowed her head. "I am his archivist. My name is Tomoko. I manage m'lord's library."</p>
<p>She smiled at Rinoa's expression. "You look surprised, m'lady. Women aren't allowed to handle books unchaperoned in the West, are they?"</p>
<p>"That is true." Not that it had ever stopped Rinoa from sneaking into Lord Caraway's library. "Did Lord Laguna tell you that?"</p>
<p>"Yes. He thinks it's an awfully foolish custom. He says he'd much rather trust his precious books to the delicate fingers of a maid, than have some brutish man's hands all over them." A twinkle danced in Tomoko's lively brown eyes. "M'lord's very attached to his books."</p>
<p>Rinoa swept her gaze across the shelves, and Tomoko looked on with a certain degree of pride.</p>
<p>"Most of the collection here is in the Old Esthari script - you can't read it, I would suppose? - but he has a section of Western writings. Come, I'll show you." She crossed the room to a set of shelves next to the window and knelt, gesturing at a row of books on the lowest shelf.</p>
<p>Rinoa bent down to join her, and her eyes took in the familiar Galbadian and Dolletian scripts on the spines. This shelf was not packed densely like the others. There were barely a dozen books in her own continent's languages. She glanced up at the other shelves wistfully.</p>
<p>Tomoko followed her gaze."You could learn to read it in a matter of weeks, m'lady, I'm sure. Lord Laguna did. Lord Kiros and Lord Ward, too. I could teach you, if you like. You'll need to learn Old Esthari, anyway, if you're to wed the young lord-" She cut off quickly at Rinoa's sudden flustered face. "Pardon me, m'lady."</p>
<p>Rinoa pressed her palms against her cheeks, trying to will the redness away. Were all the maids speaking of her as if the betrothal was already a matter of fact? "Did Lord Laguna..."</p>
<p>"Oh, no. That was Zell." A gentle flush crept across Tomoko's face, over her freckled nose, and fell into place in Rinoa's mind with the shy grin Zell had shown when he spoke of 'one of the maids'. Rinoa wondered how much went on under Lord Laguna's roof, and whether it bothered the lord of Esthar. Her own father would have had a manservant whipped for courting a maid within the castle walls.</p>
<p>"Then Zell should have told you that Squall and I do not consent to any union."</p>
<p>Tomoko, looking chastened, bowed and slipped away to attend to a different bookshelf. Rinoa wondered if her tone had come out more snappish than she intended. She sighed internally and ran her fingertips along the spines of the books. Laguna's collection of Western tomes that had made the journey across the Great Sea were mostly of the military variety: there were atlases, books on weaponry, the histories of Centra and the Holy Dollet Empire, a bestiary, and a volume of nautical charts whose leather binding was stiff and cracked with water damage. The warped leather almost hid the slim volume next to it, entitled <em>Poems for the Traveler. </em>She slid out the poetry collection and took it to the cushions by the large window, where she sat and laid the book on her knees.</p>
<p>Rinoa opened the book somewhere in the middle, and flipped the pages through poem after poem of love and longing, back towards the beginning. She stopped when she reached the inscription on the first page, a pit forming in her stomach at the sight of the small, neat lettering that she had known, and treasured throughout her youth. Her mother's hand.</p>
<p>
  <em>My beloved L.L.,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>These pages speak the words I could not say to you. How I wish that I could have. Would you have returned them to me?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It matters little, now. To have you know the truth of my heart is enough. War may take you far from me, further than I could imagine. Know this, though: my love will always follow you.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Yours, J</em>
</p>
<p>The date inscribed in the top-right corner showed that Julia's confession of love had been written a year or so before her marriage to Lord Caraway, and almost two years before Rinoa's birth. The match had been an arranged one, like all unions between nobles in the West. Rinoa wondered how her mother had felt. Had she been gripped by the same dread that filled Rinoa on learning of her betrothal to Almasy? How long had Julia grieved for a marriage that could never be, for her unfulfilled love for a low-ranking soldier?</p>
<p>She tried hard to picture her mother, the features of her face grown hazy in the fifteen years since a fever had claimed her life. Still, traces remained. Julia's eyes as she looked across at her lord husband at the dining table. A quiet, content smile. No, she did not hate the man, Rinoa could be sure of that. But neither was it the kind of passionate love that inspired songs and poetry, like the words in her hands right now.</p>
<p>She turned to a page near the end, the corner of which had been neatly folded down. It could be accidental, of course, but she had a feeling that Laguna had marked it.</p>
<p>
  <em>There are seas between us now</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Mountains, castles, and rivers</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And yet I hold you closer in my heart each day.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Live freely, my love</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And build your kingdom with pride</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Do not yearn for me</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>For I am there, in each stone you lay</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And in every triumph you win</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I shall be there, forevermore.</em>
</p>
<p>Rinoa did not know how long she sat there with the book, lost in thought. She eventually closed it, returned it to the shelf and gave her thanks to Tomoko before creeping back to her room to nurse her feelings, a complex knot of emotions that she could not begin to untangle.</p>
<hr/>
<p>She did not return to the library the next day, pushing the thought of Julia's inscription far from her mind. The morning of the sixth day brought an encounter with Kiros and Ward in the garden, and Rinoa found enough boldness to ask Kiros why Squall had not returned.</p>
<p>"It seems the young lord does not agree with his father's plans for you," he had told her, and she left it at that.</p>
<p>She had to remind herself that the fact that she and Squall were united in their rejection of Laguna's idea did not mean that they were allies. Rinoa knew she would be a fool to allow her animosity towards the young lord to soften in his absence. She realized that she was hoping for his return, if only to reassure herself on sight that he was her enemy, the sole cause of her captivity. His prolonged disappearance began to anger her. Why should she face Laguna's entreaties alone? Was it not Squall's responsibility to announce to all the castle that there would be no betrothal?</p>
<p>She made a habit of waiting near the kitchens in the early afternoon, hoping to catch Zell, and on the next day, she did. He had a young wild boar slung over his shoulders, a weight she could not imagine, yet Zell walked as if he were carrying a bag of feathers. Rinoa waited for him to emerge from the kitchens, unburdened of his load and sticky with dried blood, and pounced from the shadows.</p>
<p>"Zell."</p>
<p>He did not flinch, much to her disappointment. "M'lady."</p>
<p>"I met Tomoko. She's your sweetheart, isn't she?"</p>
<p>The tips of Zell's ears reddened, and his expression was guilty and pleased at the same time. "Did she say that?"</p>
<p>"She did not need to."</p>
<p>"Then I won't say it either, m'lady," he replied, smiling to himself.</p>
<p>"Have you seen Squall since last time?"</p>
<p>Zell's smile did not falter. "Of course."</p>
<p>"And?" she demanded, then squirmed at his raised eyebrow.</p>
<p>"And <em>what</em>, m'lady? Should I tell him that you're waiting on tenterhooks for him to visit?"</p>
<p>Rinoa fixed him with a haughty stare. "Tell him no such thing."</p>
<p>"Fine."</p>
<p>Zell wiped his brow with his hand, smearing the boar's blood onto his black tattoo, and she studied the pattern with interest.</p>
<p>"Zell, what did they brand you for in Balamb?"</p>
<p>"Brawlin'," he answered blithely.</p>
<p>"Is it a crime for men to fight each other?" Rinoa wondered.</p>
<p>"It is if you're gettin' paid for it. I was always good with my fists. The master of the Balamb dogfights offered me enough gold to provide for my widowed Ma for the rest of her life. I won every fight I entered. I don't regret it."</p>
<p>"And the master?"</p>
<p>"<em>He</em> regretted it." Zell drew a finger across his neck, and added by way of explanation, "Guillotine."</p>
<p>Rinoa winced. Balamb was a land without mercy. "What of your mother?"</p>
<p>"She kept the gold." He grinned.</p>
<p>"She must worry for you."</p>
<p>"She does. M'lord Squall ensures my letters reach her. I'll bring her to Esthar one day, as soon as I've earned a title to hold my own lands, and give her a house to keep her in comfort."</p>
<p>Rinoa gave him an appraising look. "You're a good man. I see why Squall values your service."</p>
<p>"Squall's a better man than I am, m'lady. You've nothing to fear from him." His clear blue eyes were serious, and she blinked in surprise.</p>
<p>"Fear him? It is not a matter of fear. I refuse the match between us on principle."</p>
<p>Zell searched her gaze for a moment, then gave a shrug. "As you say, m'lady."</p>
<hr/>
<p>She dined on the boar that evening, tender pieces of meat stewed in a rich hotpot, brought to her room by a kitchen maid. All of Rinoa's meals had been eaten alone since the first night's dinner with the lord, and she was by now heartily sick of the silence, broken only by the sound of her own jaws.</p>
<p>It was still early in the evening, and as soon as she drained her bowl she stole out of the room, determined to locate the viewing platform this time. The fifth floor of the keep was dim in the dusk, its lanterns not yet lit. She tiptoed past the blue dragon-doors of Laguna's library to the southernmost side, a pair of paper doors painted with a sea of clouds, and slid them open.</p>
<p>This was it, at last; the room itself was small and dark, but a pair of heavy wooden shutters on the far side that spanned the entire wall told her that she had found her goal. Rinoa crossed to the shutters, and pulled their iron handles to open a large enough gap to slip through, out into the humid night air.</p>
<p>She had remembered the viewing platform to be painted in a vivid blue, but its color was indiscernible on this moonless night. It was the view of the castle town, instead, that offered bright lights, the dancing sparks of a thousand or more lanterns flickering down below. Rinoa laid both palms on the wooden balustrade and gazed down, letting Esthar fill her eyes. She had come to think of it as her home. Here she was, standing right at the top of it, and yet she could not have felt further away from the town.</p>
<p>It unfurled before her like a paper map, criss-crossed by its maze of alleys, alleys she had run down with Selphie, hand in hand. She wondered with a sudden pang where Selphie and Irvine were at this moment, and what they would think if they knew who Rin the thief really was. Selphie despised nobles with a passion. Would she ever have forgiven the deception? How disgusted and betrayed would she be now, to see Rinoa dressed up in Esthar's most expensive silks, looking down on the town from on high?</p>
<p>Rinoa turned away from the lantern lights, troubled, and stopped, her heart racing, at the sight of the figure leaning against the shutters.</p>
<p>"Squall," she said. Even in the dark, he was instantly recognizable. How long had he been watching her?</p>
<p>He shifted his stance, arms folded over his chest, his hands hidden in the sleeves of his robes. Rinoa felt confused by the pleasant surge of familiarity that bubbled up in her as she looked at him. She chided herself for her reaction. Was she so starved of human company that she was glad to see her own captor?</p>
<p>"I thought you had left the castle."</p>
<p>"I did. I come and go."</p>
<p>He padded over on socked feet, joining her at the balustrade.</p>
<p>"Your father has been kind to me," she said.</p>
<p>"He is sure you will change your mind."</p>
<p>"I have not." Rinoa straightened her back and met his eyes. "I will not."</p>
<p>Squall turned to look down at the sprawling town below them, and she tried not to notice the strong lines of his features in profile, and how pleasing they were. <em>How much firmer would my resolve be, </em>she wondered, <em>if I could hate you, or at the very least, feel repelled by you. Yet you allow me neither luxury.</em></p>
<p>Rinoa gave herself a shake. This was a line of thought she ought not to be exploring, and certainly not in his presence. She cleared her throat and said with asperity, "Now that you have returned, perhaps you might tell me how I should be spending my days here. What does an Esthari noblewoman do with her time? Needlework? Poetry?"</p>
<p>"I have no idea."</p>
<p>"Your sister lived here once, did she not?"</p>
<p>"Ellone may not be the best example." A brief flash of warmth lit his face when he spoke his sister's name. Rinoa studied it curiously, the way it tempered his cold eyes, and decided that it suited him.</p>
<p>"Why? What did she do?"</p>
<p>"We were both children when she still lived here. She spent most of her time catching insects from the pond and tearing her robes on the pine needles playing hide-and-seek. She used my training sword to cut her hair short. Her maids despaired of her."</p>
<p>Rinoa smiled at his description, thinking how much Ellone sounded exactly like the sort of girl she had longed for as a best friend in Caraway's castle. "I should like to meet her."</p>
<p>"She will never return to this castle. Not while my father lives, at least."</p>
<p>"Her grievance is too deep?"</p>
<p>"It is. Much like yours. Would you return to your father?"</p>
<p>"Never," she said with feeling.</p>
<p>He turned to face her, and she could not read the expression in his half-lidded eyes. "Then what do you intend to do?" he asked.</p>
<p>"I do not know." She was the one to turn away, and after a while he had left her side, and she stood alone above the sea of lights.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Later, in the dead of night, Rinoa stirred, hearing muffled noises outside the chamber door. She pulled the quilt around her ears, thinking it to be a maid.</p>
<p>"Rinoa. Wake up."</p>
<p>Squall's voice was quiet but firm, and it jolted her out of her drowsiness. She tightened her night-robes, loosened by sleep, around her chest, and slid the door to one side.</p>
<p>"What do you think you are doing?" she hissed in anger. If he had come to have his way with her, he was sorely mistaken.</p>
<p>Squall pushed past her into the room, and set the woven hemp sack he held in both hands onto the floor.</p>
<p>"Can you ride?"</p>
<p>"Yes," she replied, taken aback by the urgency in his tone. "Of course. Why do you look so doubtful?"</p>
<p>"Most noblewomen here cannot. It is impossible in women's robes, for a start. I know little of the West, but you do not have a rider's hands."</p>
<p>"I wore <em>gloves</em>, Squall. White deerskin gloves, and I rode a Monterosan thoroughbred called Alice, who was given to me as a chick on my tenth birthday. Must I convince you further?"</p>
<p>"No. I do not need to hear your childhood tales. Take this." He gestured at the sack.</p>
<p>"What is it?"</p>
<p>"Your thief's garb, and your boots. And a cloak to cover you in the castle. Put them on. Open the door again when you have finished." He walked out, sliding the doors closed behind him.</p>
<p>Rinoa shook her head in wonder, and opened the sack. Her dull brown garb had been freshly laundered and folded. She had imagined it to have been burned, and held it to her chest gladly in a moment of reunion. Still, it struck her how much her clothes resembled a bundle of rags, after only a few days of wearing fine Esthari silk. She quickly shed her night-robes and slipped into the canvas pants and shirt, then laced up her boots. They, too, had been cleaned and polished. The cloak, far heavier than it looked, was made from tough leather dyed black, trimmed with a soft white pelt that might have been snow fox or hare. She pulled it around her shoulders, the fur brushing lightly against her neck.</p>
<p>When she opened the door, Squall was leaning against the far wall of the hallway. He gave a curt nod and began walking towards the staircase.</p>
<p>"Where are we going?" she whispered as she followed, trying to silence her the strike of her boots on the floorboards. She had become so accustomed to walking around only in socks for the past week that the weight of footwear felt quite odd.</p>
<p>"My lord has made his solution clear. This is mine."</p>
<p>He cut her off with a hand-motion when she started to speak again, and they crept down the castle's lower floors to the side door near the kitchens. Squall led her out into the courtyard, past three pairs of guards who bowed their heads as soon as they saw his figure approach. She wondered how they would have acted if she had dared to make this journey alone. No doubt their swords would have been at her throat, but the lord's son was not to be questioned.</p>
<p>Squall opened the heavy door to a wooden outhouse, whose smell announced to Rinoa from some distance that it was a stable. She followed him inside, and stood before a row of six drowsy chocobos. They were alone now, and she did not wait for permission to speak.</p>
<p>"Squall, explain yourself."</p>
<p>He did not respond straight away, instead walking up to the second chocobo, rousing it from slumber with a stroke to its neck. A leather saddle and bridle were hanging from rusted nails on the nearest stable wall; he took the saddle, and began to fasten it to the great bird's body.</p>
<p>"When my father alights upon a ridiculous idea, he clings to it with unholy tenacity until it comes to pass. That is, of course, why he was able to do things that other men could not. Unite the East, build this castle. However, it also means that he is insufferable to live with. It is the reason he lost my sister's trust." Squall knotted the leather ties and pulled on them, testing the tension. "If you stay here, you and I will be wed. He will find a way to make it happen, and we will be powerless against the sheer force of his will. You do not want to marry me, so you should leave. Go."</p>
<p>"But-" she stammered. "Why are you helping me?"</p>
<p>He did not look up from his hands. "I have no use for an unhappy wife. My father's whims control much of my life, but I will not grant him that part."</p>
<p>"It seems more than that. Why are you so against it? Do you despise me that much?"</p>
<p>Squall ignored her, and took the harness, sliding it over the chocobo's neck.</p>
<p>"Well? Do you?" She did not know why she pressed the question.</p>
<p>"You should not assume to know another's state of mind. It has little to do with you, if you must know." He spoke quietly, then gave a small sigh and looked up at her. "Lord Laguna loved your mother, long before he ever loved mine. I suspect he thinks that if you and I are wed, he will somehow have avenged his failure to win your mother's hand. Some parents seek to repair the disappointments of their youth through their children's lives. I do not wish to be a tool for such vanity."</p>
<p>His reasoning was unexpected. "I... do not think your father is so calculating," she said.</p>
<p>He snorted. "Indeed, he is not. I did not say his wishes are conscious ones. His motive is obvious to me, but no doubt entirely unknown to himself. My lord is blessed with a total lack of introspection. He simply lives as his heart tells him, and never questions it." He returned to adjusting the harness, his frown set hard.</p>
<p>"Where would you have me go?"</p>
<p>"If you return to thievery, I will not spare you from punishment again. Leave Esthar. Ride south. The people of the Great Plains are more welcoming than those in this domain. They speak their minds, but harbor few grudges. I am sure you will find friends there."</p>
<p>"And the chocobo?"</p>
<p>"She is yours. All I ask is that you do not mistreat her."</p>
<p>He held the reins out towards Rinoa, and she took them hesitantly.</p>
<p>"Squall, I... Are you certain? Is this the right course?"</p>
<p>Squall pressed his fingers to the bridge of his brow and exhaled through his nose. When he dropped his hand, he stared at her, trapping her confused eyes in his gaze for an uncomfortably long moment.</p>
<p>"Do you, or do you not, wish to be my bride, Rinoa?"</p>
<p>The directness of the question made her heart pound, but she knew this was hardly a proposal. She held her head high, pushing out her jaw, and said, "I will be no man's bride."</p>
<p>"Then you have your answer. Go, before we are seen."</p>
<p>He stepped away from the chocobo, and Rinoa knew it was done. She placed her boot in the stirrup and mounted the bird, and with one last wordless glance at the young lord, she pressed her boots gently against the chocobo's flank and pulled on the reins, and the creature carried her out of the stables, across the bridge, and out into the dark town. She rode faster, through the merchant's gate to the east, already open for the early-morning carts of rice and greens. When she was free of the town limits, she stopped, savoring the freedom, the open road before her.</p>
<p>Ride south, he had said. Rinoa felt that familiar stubborn tug at her mind, the one that pushed her to do the opposite of anything she had been commanded to do. She turned the chocobo north, and rode towards the stars in the black skies over the far lands beyond Esthar.</p>
<p>To the wilds of snow, ice and treachery.</p>
<p>To Trabia.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter VI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter VI</strong>
</p>
<p>With the town gate of Esthar far behind her, Rinoa raced northwards.</p>
<p>The chocobo Squall had given her was far more slender, lighter and faster than the stocky Galbadian breeds she had ridden back home, and once the beast picked up speed, the wind roared past Rinoa's ears. Less than an hour into the ride, she was already climbing the foothills of Nortes Mountains that formed the border of Esthar Domain to the north. The lifeless gray expanse of the mountain range was unearthly under the moonlight, devoid of even a lone tree or bush. The chocobo's scaly feet clattered against the hard rock as she ascended, until the jagged path flattened out into the reddish rock-strewn plateau of the Mordred Plains.</p>
<p>Hard, driving rain came in the hours before the dawn, and it lashed against Rinoa's face. She pushed on across the plateau, the chocobo slowing with exertion, and brought the bird to a halt when the dark waters of a fast-flowing mountain stream caught her eye. She stumbled down from the chocobo, sinking to her knees as her legs protested against the sudden change in position. The rain had eased to a cold drizzle. Rinoa wiped the wetness from her brow and sat on the bank, watching the great bird dip its head to drink thirstily from the stream.</p>
<p><em>Alice the Second</em>, she thought hazily. <em>That is what I shall call you. </em>She reached out an arm and patted the chocobo's flank. The weight of something in the interior pocket of Squall's cloak knocked at her hip, and she turned out the pocket to investigate.</p>
<p>To her surprise, Squall had sent her on her way with three fist-sized balls of salted, sticky rice, wrapped neatly in dried seaweed, and a small metal flask filled with weak green tea. The tea was lukewarm when it reached her lips, but she savored it, and ate the rice greedily, gratefully. When she had finished, Rinoa almost wanted to weep. Squall had provided for her, despite everything. His cold demeanor had led her to assume that he did not care whether she lived or died, but this simple act spoke more than any words from his mouth.</p>
<p>The pocket contained one last item, a roll of leather that when she untied it, revealed a neat stack of silver coins. It was not a fortune by any means, but enough for a few days' stay at an inn and a week of hot meals. She rolled it back up and returned it to the cloak pocket, along with the flask, now refilled with ice-cold water from the stream.</p>
<p>The sky above her was changing to a dull gray with pockets of color; dawn could not be far off. She remounted the chocobo and continued to ride north, now approaching the ridge of the Vienne Mountains that towered over Trabia Canyon. The dawn light grew stronger as she rode, revealing rocky peaks with icy snow clinging to the shadowed edges untouched by sun, and tufts of wiry grass that thrived in the patches where the sunrise would soon bring warmth.</p>
<p>The summit was near, she was sure. The incline was steeper than before, and the chocobo faltered, clearly tired from the climb. Rinoa ran her fingers along the feathers of the bird's head, and whispered, "I am sorry, Alice the Second. Just a little longer. Let us find a place to rest."</p>
<p>One last push, and they were standing on the peak, the rays of the sunrise hitting Rinoa's eyes so hard that she blinked back tears. When her vision cleared, the southern valleys of Trabia sprawled below. Forests, rivers, and vast empty steppeland, with a few small clusters of brown and gray specks that could be houses. Rinoa took in the new landscape with a thrill of both excitement and disquiet. Esthar had been the second chapter of her life, and this was the third. What it might hold for her was unknown, and unknowable. But from this moment, it was hers to discover. All of it.</p>
<p>She steered Alice the Second carefully down the mountain path, and shivered even in the sunlight. The late spring air in Esthar had been warm, but each hour of her ride across the mountains had brought a deepening chill, and the dawn in Trabia was bitterly cold. There was still snow on the ground here, even at the foothills of the mountains; spring had not yet reached the northern country. Rinoa took the reins in one hand and used the other to draw the cloak around her face until the fur around its collar tickled her nostrils. She was grateful for its warmth. It was a man's cloak, broad-shouldered and so long that it fell to her calves, and Rinoa wondered if the garment had been Squall' s own.</p>
<p>From the foothills of the Vienne mountains, she spotted a small settlement in the distance, smoke streaming from the chimneys of its handful of buildings. Rinoa exhaled in relief at the prospect of warm food, and the chance of a bed. She tugged at the chocobo's harness, but the bird dugs its claws into the frosted ground.</p>
<p>"What? What's wrong?" she asked, but the chocobo would not budge. Rinoa turned her head to look for beasts, or whatever had troubled the bird so, and her eyes settled on the unmistakeable rounded shape of a chocobo forest over to the west.</p>
<p>"Ah. You want to go there, don't you?" Rinoa murmured, stroking the bird's neck. The chocobo strained in the direction of the forest, and Rinoa was overcome with remorse. Had she forgotten her promise to Squall so quickly? The poor creature was exhausted.</p>
<p>"You've worked hard," she said, climbing down from the saddle, and started to loosen the harness. "Much too hard for one night. I promised your master I would treat you well. Go, and be happy. I hope you'll find a new family." She patted the chocobo's back, nudging her towards the forest, and the Alice the Second gave a soft warble and trotted away.</p>
<p>Rinoa watched until the bird's tail feathers disappear into the trees, and reflected, not for the first time, on her tendency to make decisions without giving full thought to the outcome. <em>Well. She was never mine in the first place</em>, she reasoned, and set off for the village, the frost crunching under her boots.</p>
<hr/>
<p>When she arrived, she saw that it was hardly even a village. The only substantial building was a mill, its slowly turning water wheel half-submerged in the small river that ran alongside the settlement. Rinoa was doubtful that all of the eight other cottage were occupied. Two were ramshackle, and without smoke from their chimneys.</p>
<p>She decided that the mill was perhaps her best prospect, and walked over to the side of the building, where rows of stacked firewood were nestled under a roofed wooden frame, oilcloth lashed to the sides for protection from the rain.</p>
<p>A woman, some twenty years older than Rinoa, appeared from the mill-house holding a chamber pot, the contents of which she poured onto the earth outside the door. She set the empty pot down, straightened up with a grunt, and started towards the firewood store.</p>
<p>Rinoa stepped into her path. "Excuse m-"</p>
<p>Staggering back, the woman clasped her chest with one hand. "Shiva's teats, girl! Where in goodness did you spring from?"</p>
<p>"I was hoping... Might you have a room to spare? And some food?" Rinoa brandished the roll of coins from the cloak, and the wariness on the woman's face softened a little. "I have money."</p>
<p>"Come inside for now, then." The woman grabbed an armful of firewood from the stack, and held it out to Rinoa. "Carry this with you. You can start by makin' yourself useful." She took a second load herself, and Rinoa followed her into the mill-house.</p>
<p>The building was dark inside, lit only by the small flame of a weak fire licking at the hearth. The low ceiling was criss-crossed by heavy wooden beams. A scratched dining table stood beside a low wooden bench, fashioned from a single plank of Trabian pine.</p>
<p>The mill-wife dumped the firewood she was carrying in a basket next to the hearth, and motioned to Rinoa to do the same. "Sit, sit," she said, shooing with her hands, and Rinoa thudded onto the bench, her grateful legs buckling under her, while the woman added wood to the fire.</p>
<p>Rinoa looked up at the thud of approaching boots. A man was standing in the doorway to the next room, arms folded and staring at her. His gray hair and workclothes were covered with a dusting of powdered grain. Rinoa bowed her head to him in the Esthari way, and saw the disdain in his eyes when she did so. Trabian customs were different, then. She wondered how she might greet the miller without offending him.</p>
<p>The mill-wife hastened to the man's side, and Rinoa could not make out their lowered voices. After a while, the man nodded, and the woman left the room, with a quick glance at Rinoa.</p>
<p>The miller moved aside from the doorway, but did not join Rinoa at the table, nor did he loosen his arms from his thick chest.</p>
<p>"Now, then. Better say where you came from," he said, unsmiling.</p>
<p>"Esthar. I was sent away by the lord. I have nowhere else to go."</p>
<p>"How'd you get here? Only a witch could've crossed the Canyon on foot. You a witch, girl?"</p>
<p>"No. I came by chocobo."</p>
<p>The miller was unmoved. "So where is it?"</p>
<p>"I released her to the forest west of here. She was exhausted."</p>
<p>He made a sound through his teeth. "Fool. There's good eatin' on chocobos. Could've fed the whole village for two nights, and fetched you a pretty handful of coins, to boot."</p>
<p>Rinoa stared back at him, unsure if this was some kind of joke. "You... eat chocobos here?"</p>
<p>"In Trabia, you eat what'll keep you from death. We're not spoiled for choice like those in your soft South."</p>
<p>The mill-wife remerged from the doorway, holding a wooden tray. She laid a bowl of thick millet porridge and a cup of murky tea in front of Rinoa.</p>
<p>"Thank you." Rinoa took a hasty sip of the tea, then fumbled in her pocket and set down the roll of coins. "Will this be enough pay for a room-"</p>
<p>The miller cut her off. "There'll be no room. We'll take three silver for the food, and two for the fright you gave my wife. You can't stay here."</p>
<p>"Is there another house that might..." She let the question die when she saw the hardness in his face.</p>
<p>"None in this village'll take anyone from the South. We've had enough. That Lord Laguna thinks he can throw all his unwanteds into the North and forget about 'em. We've had nothin' but grief from Esthar. So, no. You're on your own."</p>
<p>The mill-wife seated herself at the bench alongside Rinoa, and gestured at the porridge. "Eat up first. There's travelin' folk that might take you in. They ain't welcome around here, on account of the witch among 'em."</p>
<p>Rinoa took a spoonful of the hot, salty mixture, and looked up at the mill-wife with gratitude. "Where might I find them?"</p>
<p>The miller glared at his wife. "Where there's trouble. And we don't want trouble. Off with you."</p>
<p>She ate the rest of the porridge in silence, wanting to speak to the woman, but deterred by the man's sour eyes. The mill-wife stood and excused herself halfway through, taking the empty cup out of the room. She returned after a minute with a lukewarm refill, which Rinoa gulped down after expressing her thanks. When she was done, she stood and counted out the coins.</p>
<p>"Thank you. I'm sorry to have troubled you. I'll be on my way."</p>
<p>The miller grunted, and watched her as she left. The mill-wife stopped her at the door, hand outstretched.</p>
<p>"One more silver, my girl. For the tea."</p>
<p>Flustered, Rinoa scrabbled for another coin, and as she placed it in the woman's hand, she felt the mill-wife slip something small and paper-like between her fingers in return. Rinoa looked up in surprise, but the woman's blank expression forbade her from speaking.</p>
<p>She waited until she was fifty paces from the mill before unfolding the scrap of notepaper, and saw the mill-wife's hurried ink-pen scrawl.</p>
<p>
  <em>By the lake.</em>
</p>
<p>The lake. Rinoa had seen a lake from the mountaintop, glittering in the distance under the dawn sun. By chocobo, it would have been an hour's ride, perhaps. On foot, she guessed it would take half a day or more. She turned once more to the north, and started walking.</p>
<p>The steppeland was flat, and unvaried, and would have made for an easy journey if she had been well-rested. But Rinoa was tired to the bone, her legs were stiff and sore after a night's ride, and her progress was slow.</p>
<p>In the late afternoon, she stopped for a rest, draining the last drop of water from the flask Squall had given her. The moon had already risen in the sky. She allowed her eyes to unfocus as she gazed at it, recalling the old tales of monsters on the moon. The ancient Centran texts that were said to tell of the moon's secrets had all been lost, and most Galbadians thought them to be nothing more than a fairytale. Still, Rinoa wondered if there was a grain of truth in the legends. She thought of Esthar's castle library, and Laguna's extensive collection of classical Eastern texts. Did they hold knowledge of the lunar world, long-forgotten in the West and South? If she had stayed... She could have taken up Tomoko's offer of tutoring in Old Esthari, and spent her days in the archives, filling her head with learning, and then...</p>
<p>She shook herself. <em>And then what? Wait meekly in the bedchamber each night for Squall to claim his marital right from me? No, I will never be that kind of woman.</em></p>
<p>There was no time to sit mired in daydreams; she needed to reach the lake by nightfall. Rinoa pulled herself to her feet, and forced her legs to keep going onwards. Towards the traveling folk, and towards the witch.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Signs of the travelers were not difficult to find in the empty landscape, even as the dusk set in. Rinoa spotted two tents and the remains of a fire beside a slim curve of dark brown sand at the lakeshore. When she approached, two seated figures leapt to their feet and strode towards her. At closer distance, she saw that they were a man and a woman, both with the smooth black hair and compact build of native Trabians, clad in leathers and furs. The woman's hand was resting on the hilt of a short, flat sword at her waist, and the man had a bow slung over his shoulder.</p>
<p>The woman's eyes, dark under heavy-set brows, were narrow against the biting wind. "Outcast or witch-hunter?" she called out.</p>
<p>Rinoa tried to speak, and finding that the cold had stiffened her lips, barely managed a croak.</p>
<p>The woman drew the sword from her waist, and pointed it squarely in Rinoa's direction. "Well? Which are you?"</p>
<p>"Outcast."</p>
<p>A third person stepped out from the larger of the two tents, a gold-haired woman, clearly a Westerner. Her hair was pinned high on her head, and her long limbs were encased in faded tanned hide that might once have been the color of salmon's flesh. A tightly-coiled leather whip was fastened to the belt slung low across her hips. She was tall, almost a head taller than Rinoa. Her assured poise and the effortless grace with which she walked left Rinoa in no doubt: this was the witch.</p>
<p>The witch stopped at a few paces' distance, and cast her pale eyes across Rinoa's figure, from her wind-reddened face to the battered boots on her feet.</p>
<p>"Have even the lords of the West taken Trabia as the dumping ground for their exiles now?" Her voice was deep and rich, and tinged with an accent Rinoa could not place.</p>
<p>Rinoa straightened her shoulders. "I am a fugitive from Esthar."</p>
<p>The witch inclined her head, her gloved hands curled around both elbows. "What great crime did you commit, that the Lord of Esthar saw fit to banish you to these lands?"</p>
<p>"Thievery."</p>
<p>"And what did you steal?"</p>
<p>"Silver, sometimes food. Only from the rich."</p>
<p>"Of course. The poor have nothing to steal. Nomads are less than poor; we own nothing at all. We have no silver for you here, little thief." The witch turned away.</p>
<p>"I would seek to join you." Rinoa swallowed, and added, "Please."</p>
<p>The witch faced her once more, and seemed study her with great care. Rinoa felt as if every part of her was on show, with nothing hidden under this woman's piercing eyes. Behind her, the swordswoman begin to speak, but the witch held up a slender hand, and she fell silent.</p>
<p>"Your name?"</p>
<p>"Rin." Her thief-name slipped from her lips easily, as it had until her capture, and she felt no need to correct it.</p>
<p>"Can you hunt? Cook?" the witch asked.</p>
<p>"Well enough." It was not quite the truth, and the witch surely saw that, but she nodded and beckoned Rinoa to step closer.</p>
<p>"Come, then, and join me at the fireside while these two seek our supper in the forest."</p>
<p>She waved her companions away, and they left. The swordswoman's mouth was set in a surly line as she stalked away, but the archer looked at Rinoa with open curiosity before hastening away from the lakeshore. The witch knelt by the firepit, took a small knife from her belt, and began to shave thin ribbons of kindling wood from a pile of branches next to the pit.</p>
<p>"Yours is not an Esthari face," she said as she worked the knife. "You are from the Western lands, as I once was."</p>
<p>"I was born in Galbadia, yes. I cannot return there. I no longer call the West my home."</p>
<p>"Nor do I. But let me tell you, little thief, that Trabia is not a welcoming land. The frozen earth itself would shrug humans away if it could. It is not easy for us to live here." The witch scooped up a pile of blackened ashes from the firepit and threw them out of the pit, onto the sand.</p>
<p>"Then... why do you?" asked Rinoa, forgetting to guard her words.</p>
<p>The witch turned her clear, ice-blue eyes onto Rinoa's face, a forthright gaze that was clearly weighing her up, and Rinoa wilted under it.</p>
<p>"I- I beg your pardon, my lady Sorceress."</p>
<p>"I would prefer you to address me as Quistis." The witch returned to clearing the ashes, and Rinoa waited for her to speak again. "The great nations of this world do not look upon Sorceresses with any sympathy. They either seek to kill us, or vie for control of our powers. Here, in the frozen wastes of the North, I am far away enough for them to pretend I do not exist. The arrangement seems to suit us all."</p>
<p>"And your friends? The swordswoman and the archer?"</p>
<p>"Their names are Xu and Nida. Xu is the woman, a warrior. Nida is a hunter." Quistis arranged the curled slivers of tinder in a heap in the firepit. "Over the years, I have come to collect outcasts. As you have come to me, so did they. All those who travel with me have their own stories. I will not ask to hear more of yours. I shall leave it to Xu and Nida to decide if they wish to share theirs with you. They may, or they may not."</p>
<p>Quistis knelt down and stretched out a hand over the pile of kindling. A lick of orange flame leapt from her fingertips and set the tinder alight, the wood shavings crackling and dancing as they crumpled into gray smoke. She stifled a small laugh at Rinoa's wide eyes. "Forgive me for finding your awe rather gratifying. It is years since I have seen any reaction other than fear or indifference. Xu and Nida are no longer impressed at seeing me light the fire." She rose to her feet, and began to add thicker branches of firewood from the stack. "Though they are glad to never need a tinderbox, in a land so cold as this."</p>
<p>Rinoa joined her, taking a handful of dried twigs and placing them in the pit. The fire grew hungrily and warmed her chilled bones, bringing a lull of sleepiness over her whole body. It was not long before Xu and Nida returned with two snow hares, pierced by Nida's arrows, and a meal's worth of wild herbs and mushrooms. Nida and Quistis set up a makeshift cooking frame over the fire, from which they hung a dented metal pot, while Xu skinned and cut the haremeat with her sword. With the addition of water from the lake, and the herbs and mushrooms from the forest, a stew was soon bubbling away, its aroma priming Rinoa's tastebuds.</p>
<p>She watched them while they worked, after offering to help and being told to "first observe, and learn," by Xu. Rinoa found that she was able to study the nomads' personalities as much as their cooking process. Nida, the archer, was amiable and passive in nature, seemingly happy to take orders from the two women. He was by far the most talkative, and laughed often, mostly at his own pronouncements. Xu, in contrast, was taciturn, and quick to show anger. She was less than eager to welcome Rinoa into the group, judging from the suspicious glances she threw in her direction.</p>
<p>Quistis' character was more difficult to glean. She said little, and smiled rarely, but nor did she glower or frown. There was a calm authority to her presence that served as an anchor of reassurance to Rinoa, and it reminded her of someone she could not place. It was only later at night that she realized it had been Squall, and that his quiet commanding air had buoyed her spirits, and she pushed the thought away in dismay.</p>
<p>When the stew was ready, they ate, and Rinoa could not remember the last time a meal had given her so much joy. She served herself seconds, and then thirds from the pot, ladling it into the wooden bowl the nomads had given her, and Nida grinned at her obvious appreciation, his eyes dancing with the reflected flames.</p>
<p>"You were starving, weren't you?"</p>
<p>"I was." At Xu's frown, Rinoa added, "If I have taken more than my share, I am sorry."</p>
<p>"Don't be. There's enough to go round," Nida said, helping himself to another serving.</p>
<p>Quistis laid down her empty bowl and wrapped her arms over her folded legs. "Rin will join us until the moon is new again. If, by the end of those two weeks, she still wishes to lead a nomad's life, she may join us for good. Do you approve?"</p>
<p>"Yes," Nida said cheerfully through a mouthful of haremeat, and Xu nodded solemnly, her eyes never leaving Rinoa's face.</p>
<p>"Then it is settled," Quistis said. She stood, taking her bowl to the lake's edge to rinse it clean in the water.</p>
<p>"How long have you lived like this, only the three of you?" Rinoa asked Nida.</p>
<p>"A few years now." The pot was empty now, and Nida loosened its handle from the hook, then dropped it onto the sand to cool. "There have been more of us, before I joined. There were as many as ten, once."</p>
<p>"What happened to them?"</p>
<p>He shrugged and looked away, and Xu fixed Rinoa with a hard stare. "Life has little value in Trabia. If you have not learned that yet, you will soon."</p>
<p>Quistis returned to the firepit, her hair now unpinned and braided, her face damp from lake water. "I will bid you goodnight, little thief. We have another tent. Xu will teach you how to assemble it." She turned towards the larger tent, then looked over her shoulder at Nida, giving him the briefest nod before she disappeared under the tent-cloth.</p>
<p>The hint of a satisfied smirk tugged at Nida's lips, then he rose to his feet, dusting the sand from his knees. "Sleep tight, then," he told Rinoa with a light clap to her shoulder, and he followed Quistis into the tent.</p>
<p>Rinoa blinked. She had not quite expected that, somehow. But, she reminded herself, in the stories, the witch always took a lover. A man under her spell, a man who would do anything for her. Was that not always the way?</p>
<p>Xu rummaged among the pile of belongings next to her own tent, and set down a bundle of rods tied with cloth in front of Rinoa.</p>
<p>"Let us do this now, while we still have the firelight," she said.</p>
<p>With a few sparse words of instruction, Xu showed Rinoa how to fit the rusted steel rods together and drape them with thick canvas, binding its leather ties tightly. The tent was barely as tall as Rinoa's hips when finished, and when she crawled inside it, she felt like a mole burying itself under the soil. The bedding roll was one of animal furs, which took away some of the raw cold of the ground, if not its hardness. Again, Rinoa was thankful for Squall's leather cloak, which brought enough warmth to her body to allow the tightness in her chest to ease. The last thing she heard before she slept was the sound of Xu stacking the bowls together and dousing the fire. Then the pitch-black night claimed her, and she could not have woken for all the silver in Esthar.</p>
<hr/>
<p>After a few days, Rinoa felt as though she could barely remember a life that was not that of a nomad. She hunted and gathered in the forest, drunk her fill of the clear lake water, washed the cooking pots and knives in the lake, and tended to the fire. She was given one of Xu's knives to use on firewood and animal flesh, and she found great contentment in working to better her cutting skills. To use her hands, her dexterity and strength to live from the land, without the need for thievery, marriage pacts, or the concept of money, was a revelation to Rinoa. There was another way to survive, she realized. All this time, there had been another way.</p>
<p>She also learned more about her new companions. Nida was quick to embrace her as his kin, and soon told her how he and Xu had come to live with Quistis. Xu was silent when he spoke, but allowed him to relay her story to Rinoa. While her initial hostility had faded, she was not the type to indulge in chatter, and only talked when necessity compelled her to.</p>
<p>Rinoa heard how Xu, born and raised on Trabia's frozen eastern coast, had been promised to her village headman's widowed brother at the age of fourteen, a man some forty years her senior. She had confronted her parents, the headman, and the other elders of the village in disgust, but to no avail. <em>This is our way, daughter</em>, they told her.<em> You must abide, as we did. </em>So she had crept away in the night, with nothing but the clothes she wore and her father's sword at her belt. Quistis had saved her life when a snow lion had attacked her as she crossed from the Heath Peninsula to the Vienne region.</p>
<p>Rinoa felt a swell of kinship on hearing this tale, and longed to tell Xu that she herself had fled from marriage twice over. But it would serve no purpose to reveal her noble birth to the nomads, and moreover, Xu's forbidding nature gave her pause. So Rinoa held her tongue, and listened to Nida's own story.</p>
<p>Nida, born to an ailing mother and an absent father in the south of Trabia, had been orphaned as a teenager, and became a vagrant. He spent a year traveling from village to farm, sometimes stealing, sometimes trading whatever beast-meat he could hunt in Trabia's southern forests. He had come across Quistis and Xu during such a hunt three years before, and had remained at the Sorceress' side ever since.</p>
<p>"Why did you decide to join her?" Rinoa ventured to ask.</p>
<p>"How could I not?" He smiled at her reaction, eyes glinting with amusement. "If you were a man, you would not even think to ask. I was hers the moment I laid eyes on her."</p>
<p>On that night, the fourth since Rinoa's arrival, Quistis retired to her tent without a backward glance at Nida. He gave a half-sigh, then seated himself next to Rinoa's small tent.</p>
<p>"I will take this back tonight. It was mine, before you came. Xu will share hers with you. Sneak in when she is asleep, if you prefer not to engage her in pillow-talk. No-one would blame you."</p>
<p>She stared at him, uncomprehending. "But... You and Quistis... I thought-"</p>
<p>"Did you?" Nida's smile was crooked now. "No. Only when she invites me to." At Rinoa's puzzlement, he laughed, and the smile reached both sides again. "There's isn't a man alive who forced himself on a Sorceress and lived to tell the tale. Besides, I'm not that sort of a man. She decides, and I follow her wishes. That's enough for me."</p>
<p>Rinoa could not understand his easy acceptance. It contradicted every whisper she had ever heard about men and lovemaking. "And... you are not angered by it?"</p>
<p>Nida stretched his legs out in the sand and cocked his head at her. "Not all men take what they want from women, Rin. Many do, I'm sure. But we are not all the same. Have you never met a man with honor before?"</p>
<p>"...I have," she said, after a moment. The man who came to her mind was Squall, and the times he had been alone with her. In the forest, in her bedchamber, in the stables. He could have forced her, if he had wanted to. She had barely half his strength, after all. Yet he never touched her. More than that; she had never feared him, not even once.</p>
<p>Nor did she fear Nida. She jolted upright, wondering if her question had been offensive. "Forgive me, Nida."</p>
<p>"There is nothing to forgive," he said with a yawn, and claimed her tent for himself.</p>
<p>Rinoa finished washing the cooking pot, and poured water on the fire until steam hissed from the embers. She crept into the other tent, next to a sleeping Xu. Rinoa listened to the rhythm of her companion's quiet shallow breaths, pulled Squall's cloak over her body, and slipped into a sleep filled with frenzied dreams, none of which lingered when the morning came.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter VII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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    <p> </p>
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    <div>
      <p>Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>
        <strong>Chapter VII</strong>
      </p>
      <p>Lion Heart's edge glinted in the morning sunlight that filled the castle courtyard. To the untrained eye, it was sharp enough to cut through flesh and bone; surely enough for any swordsman. Squall's eyes saw what others would not. Tiny pits and warps in the steel, dullness, roughness. Imperfection. The son of the Lord of Esthar was not a man who was satisfied with imperfection. He dipped the waterstone in the bucket until it was sodden, then drew the blade level with his arm and slid it back and forth along the stone, turning the edge in small increments.</p>
      <p>The rhythm brought him comfort, as it always did. Base to tip, tip to base. The abrasive grains of the waterstone smoothed each microscopic flaw in the blade's edge, and the steel shone brighter. Squall slowed his pace, and let his mind wander away from the ritual of sword-sharpening, and back to where it had been before he started. <em>Her.</em></p>
      <p>He had sent messages to a few trusted Esthari allies in the south, asking for word of the whereabouts of a Galbadian thief-girl, with fierce dark eyes and skin as pale as rice-water, and a poor ability to hide a certain streak of noble-born haughtiness. No word came.</p>
      <p>Women very rarely distracted Squall from his thoughts, but this one did, even in her absence. He found himself rehashing their last moments together, wondering what it meant. Her hesitation on parting. Had she wanted to stay? Had she been starting to soften to the idea of marriage?</p>
      <p>Moreover, had <em>he</em>? As Laguna's heir, marriage was a distant inevitability, one that Squall had decided to put off for as long as possible. Yet the idea of Rinoa beside him as a companion appeared in his thoughts more frequently than it ought, and he did not always push it away, sometimes letting it linger. She was infuriating, exhausting even, and yet...</p>
      <p><em>Gone. She is gone, </em>he told himself, and returned his focus to the waterstone, and his blade.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>He was called to his father's rooms later in the morning, to report on the previous evening's patrol with Zell. They had caught a pickpocket at the market and duly brought him to Kiros, and also uncovered a tavern that had raised the prices of its drinks far beyond the legal maximum, forcing debts onto its patrons that they could not repay. Squall relayed the facts to Laguna in a formal manner, but did not bother to disguise the boredom on his face. It had long been a point of contention between them: Squall felt that the tasks set to him were menial, while Laguna insisted that a ruler must know the inner workings of his realm, no matter how unsavory.</p>
      <p>Squall had hoped that his recent show of overt disobedience, by releasing Rinoa, might force the lord's hand to bring about a change in Squall's duties. He would have relished an angry scolding, a punishment, an argument. Anything to cut through the tedium. Yet Laguna's only reaction was a sigh of disappointment, then a placid smile. It was one of the most aggravating things about the man. Why could he not show anger? Why could he not be provoked as other men could?</p>
      <p>"That is all, my lord," Squall finished, with a curt bow.</p>
      <p>"Very good. Stay a while, won't you?" Laguna gestured at the side of his desk, and Squall warily knelt there, keeping an arm's length between himself and his father.</p>
      <p>Laguna propped his face under one elbow and examined his son's surly expression. "Now, then. Have you any news of her?"</p>
      <p>"Who?" Squall asked through clenched teeth, though he already knew.</p>
      <p>"The fair Lady Rinoa. Come, my son, I do not believe that you released her only to forget all about her. You have been seeking word of her, surely?"</p>
      <p>"No. I have not," he lied, cursing the lord for his persistence, for his ability to see what Squall wished to stay hidden. "I do not know what became of her."</p>
      <p>"That is a pity," Laguna said, the show of dismay on his face at odds with the sparkle in his eyes. "I have another question for you, quite unrelated, no doubt. I am told that you sent an order to the seamstress to sew you another traveling cloak. What could have happened to yours?"</p>
      <p>"It had grown shabby."</p>
      <p>"Perhaps it had. Even so, I imagine it looks quite handsome on her, don't you?"</p>
      <p>Squall thought to say 'who?' again, but held his tongue, knowing he was on losing ground, and cursed his father a second time.</p>
      <p>"Laguna, are you ready?" Kiros' voice came from behind the sliding doors, accompanied by the heavy shuffling sound of Ward attempting to arrange his legs into a graceful kneel.</p>
      <p>"As always, my friends. Come, come," Laguna replied with a wide grin, and the two lords entered, Ward bearing a bundle of papers in his hands.</p>
      <p>Neither man bowed to Laguna, though Kiros dipped his head to Squall. In front of others, they made fulsome displays of Esthari manners towards the Lord of the domain, but in their own company, they were still three brothers-in-arms from across the sea: equals, comrades, friends. Squall nodded back to Kiros, feeling a tug of envy as he often did. As the lord's son, there had never been opportunities for Squall to forge relationships on an even footing, in the way these men had. While Zell was surely the closest presence to a comrade in Squall's life, Zell would forever be deferential and grateful to Squall for plucking him from the lower regiments of the Esthari army to join Squall's service as a retainer. The relationship was founded on imbalance; Zell would never look upon Squall as an equal. The only person, Squall reflected, who ever did so was his sister. Ellone made no fuss of Squall's title or status. In fact, as the younger sibling, it was he who yielded to her will much of the time. No, the only person who had stared at him with her head held high, her eyes untroubled by respect, was...</p>
      <p>He glowered, and cracked the knuckles of his right hand in irritation. Must all his thoughts circle back to Rinoa so easily? How she would laugh at him if she knew. He was quite certain she had not given him a second thought since riding south from Esthar.</p>
      <p>"Today's missives," Kiros announced as Ward laid the papers on Laguna's desk.</p>
      <p>Placing his hands on his thighs, Squall made to rise to his feet. "My lords, I will take my leave of you now."</p>
      <p>Laguna held out an arm, his fingers brushing the edge of Squall's sleeve. "Stay. You will need to learn these things, my son."</p>
      <p>Squall sunk back to his knees, saying nothing. This, at least, was new. He had never been invited to attend a council meeting before. Could it be that Laguna was edging towards a reevaluation of the constraints he placed on his son?</p>
      <p>Ward shuffled through the pile, and lifted out a folded sheaf of Western paper, its red wax seal already broken, and passed it to Kiros. <em>This one may be of interest, </em>he signed, his large hands twisting and shaping the words of the mute's language. <em>It was delivered by a fishing vessel from Balamb two days ago.</em></p>
      <p>Kiros unfolded the paper. "A declaration from the Freehold of Timber, announcing their establishment as a new nation where there shall be no nobility, no man or woman shall serve another, and all shall be equal."</p>
      <p>Laguna drummed his fingers against his chin. "Timber... Time has dulled my memory. The little village in the woods?"</p>
      <p>"Indeed, although it seems to have grown in size since we left the West." Kiros began to read from the letter. "'We, the people of Timber, united in our aims and ideals, hereby set forth-"</p>
      <p>"Let me spare you the effort, Kiros." Laguna reached out to take the document, his eyes scanning the text. "Well. Good luck to 'em." He cast the paper to one side, then smiled at Kiros' raised eyebrow. "Do not worry. I will compose a suitable response. What have we next?"</p>
      <p>Squall sat silently through Kiros' reading of the amount of rice collected as tax from the outer villages to the east of the castle town, and a list of merchants that the Guild had newly certified as entitled to trade their goods at Esthar's morning market. Ward took out a scroll of hide from the bottom of the bundle, and placed it in Laguna's hands. <em>Then there is this. Received from the North, by rider, I was told.</em></p>
      <p>Laguna unrolled the hide, and frowned at the contents. "The Council of Trabian Elders request my aid in quelling the threat of the witch who roams their lands."</p>
      <p>Kiros and Ward did not speak, so Squall asked, "A request or a demand?"</p>
      <p>"There is little difference, in practice." A rare shadow crossed Laguna's face. "They have long begrudged me for it, and with good reason."</p>
      <p>Kiros reached to take the scroll, and quickly read it before rolling it back up. "They believe you let mercy stay your hand."</p>
      <p>"It seems so. They do not appreciate that killing a Sorceress only creates a greater problem. But they are right to think it is my responsibility. She is a burden I cast on them, after all. I left Adel's successor to chance, when we could have controlled it."</p>
      <p>"Only if you had a willing recipient," Squall said, anger and accusation rising in his voice. "You were wrong to attempt to coerce Elle-"</p>
      <p>"There was no coercion." His father's gaze was level; Squall's words had not pierced Laguna's calm. "She would have made a fine Sorceress, and brought the gift of sorcery to our line. It was a perfect plan."</p>
      <p>"She did not want it. She was a child, and terrified. And you paid the price, by losing her. She will never forgive you."</p>
      <p>"Give her time," Laguna said, with a serene smile that pushed Squall's frustration to boiling point.</p>
      <p>"You learned nothing. You would have forced Rinoa and I to wed, had I not freed her. You do not listen. It is clear that your children's words mean nothing to you."</p>
      <p>"And yet you remain by my side, son." There was a sadness in Laguna's tone, as there always was when the subject of Ellone was raised, and for all his anger, Squall could not push the point further.</p>
      <p><em>To my folly, </em>he thought sullenly, folding his arms and lapsing into silence once more.</p>
      <p>Kiros' eyes stayed on Squall long enough to ensure that his outburst had subsided, then returned to Laguna. "What are your thoughts?"</p>
      <p>"The Council's request cannot be ignored. Nor can I ride my army there. I do not want the Trabians to think I am sending an invading force."</p>
      <p><em>Many in the North would welcome it, </em>Ward pointed out.</p>
      <p>Laguna gave a sour half-laugh. "That is precisely my fear. It would take a bigger fool than I to attempt to rule Trabia."</p>
      <p>Squall straightened his back, his fists clenched on his knees. "Send me. Give me a force of twenty men, and I will lead them."</p>
      <p>Laguna shook his head. "I will not risk you, my son."</p>
      <p>"How am I to become your heir if I have never faced true danger? I am a man grown. Will you send me on errands, catching petty criminals and hunting for game until you die? Then who will prepare me to lead this nation?"</p>
      <p>His father was, for once, speechless, and his eyes fled from Squall's face to those of his comrades. Ward, silent and impassive, held Laguna's gaze, and gave a slow, single nod.</p>
      <p>"Laguna. You must know he is right." Kiros' voice was gentle, but his expression was unyielding.</p>
      <p>Laguna raked his fingers through his hair and struggled to his feet, his line of vision everywhere but on his son. "Then I... I need not be present for the details. Make the plan amongst yourselves. I will give my verdict when it is done."</p>
      <p>Squall watched Laguna fumble the sliding door closed behind him with undisguised contempt. "How pitiful. He cannot even bear to discuss it."</p>
      <p>Kiros' sigh was quiet and resigned. "Remember that he is a man who has lost your mother, and your sister. Of course he is afraid of losing you."</p>
      <p>"I will not become lost. Let me prove myself. It has been long enough."</p>
      <p>"Indeed. Ward and I are in agreement with you, Squall." Kiros interlocked his fingers in a triangle, and rested his chin on them in thought. "Well, then. Twenty men. Let us be sure to choose the hardiest. Trabia is not a destination for the faint-hearted."</p>
      <p>Ward nodded, his thick brows drawn together. <em>We must think carefully about your -.</em></p>
      <p>Squall frowned. "I do not know that one." He attempted to mimic the last, unfamiliar gesture. While he had learned Ward's language of signs in boyhood, and used it often with Ellone to confound and exasperate their maids, there remained gaps in his knowledge when the conversation turned to more complex topics.</p>
      <p>"Munitions," Kiros said.</p>
      <p><em>Munitions. </em>Squall brought both thumbs together and practiced the gesture several times until he had committed it to memory. <em>Munitions. </em>"I see. You do not think swords will suffice against a witch?"</p>
      <p>
        <em>It would be wise to prepare long-range weaponry. Fire-throwers, archers. She will be able attack from a distance, so you must be ready to do the same.</em>
      </p>
      <p>"What weapon did Father use to defeat the tyrant?" It occurred to Squall that he had never been told the details of Laguna's victory over Adel. His father's triumph had long passed into legend, revered by all Esthari, and yet here Squall was, as ignorant as a child.</p>
      <p>Kiros exchanged a glance with Ward before he spoke. "The rifle that he used in as a soldier in the Galbadian army."</p>
      <p>Squall exhaled through his teeth in disgust. "So Father wielded a firearm here in Esthar, and yet he retains both of his hands. Are all our laws based on such hypocrisy?"</p>
      <p>"It was the only way to wound the Red One. Laguna took no pride in it. He had the rifle melted down a year later. The only ones who knew the truth of the matter were Ward, myself and Lady Raine."</p>
      <p><em>It is because your father wielded a gun in his youth that he knows the true cost of allowing firearms to spread throughout a country. </em>Ward leaned forward, his face earnest. <em>Believe me, such laws protect this land more than you can know.</em></p>
      <p>"Tell me, then, what happened, after he shot her. She did not die, did she? I know that she was exiled."</p>
      <p>"It was Ward and I who took her to Trabia. She was shackled and carried on Ward's back, barely alive. If she had been of ordinary flesh, she would have bled to death on the journey. But a Sorceress cannot die without a successor." Kiros carefully avoided naming Adel, speaking always of the tyrant, the Sorceress, or the Red One. Squall knew this to be a custom from Kiros' homeland in Centra. <em>To name a witch is to invite her presence, </em>Kiros had once explained. Not so for Laguna, who thought it a foolish superstition, and spoke Adel's name freely.</p>
      <p>"There is a peninsula in the east where the ice does not melt even in summer. That is where we left her." Kiros trailed off, his expression unreadable, and Ward's shoulders shook as he gave a great shudder.</p>
      <p>
        <em>Under a layer of ice as thick as a man is tall. Twenty years have passed now, but I can still see her as if it were yesterday. That wild red hair and streaks of her blood, frozen black in the ice. Her eyes, still open. I always felt as if she was watching us.</em>
      </p>
      <p>"We traveled there yearly to observe her." Kiros added. "On our visit fifteen years ago, she was not there. We do not know how she broke free."</p>
      <p>
        <em>It was a mistaken course of action. Kiros and I knew that even as we carried it out.</em>
      </p>
      <p>"A mistake, yes, and a grave one." Kiros' eyes were downcast. "But after Lady Raine refused to allow any talk of Laguna's plan for Ellone, we had no other course to take. How does one solve the problem of a Sorceress? We struggled to think of a way to keep her alive so that she may not pass on her powers, while also preventing her from using them herself. Laguna often said, 'if only we could hurl her into the stars'. We thought between us that the snowfields of Trabia were the next best thing; it seems we were wrong. The Red One found a way to pass on her powers. Her successor may be a better woman. She may be worse. You would be wise assume the latter, Squall."</p>
      <p>Ward pressed a flat palm on Squall's shoulder, then removed it to speak in signs again. <em>You must come back alive. For the sake of this domain, and your father. If the witch is too powerful, then flee. There is no shame in fleeing.</em></p>
      <p>"I will not flee," Squall said, more fiercely than he intended. The whole sorry story made him feel ashamed of the legacy he carried on his own shoulders as heir to Esthar. Failure and cowardice; were those the foundations the castle was built upon?</p>
      <p>"Father is the one who has fled from his responsibilities. He let Adel slip through his fingers. She should have been given a permanent guard. Why did he not visit Trabia himself?"</p>
      <p>"He did once, the year you turned four," said Kiros. "We three went North together. Perhaps you remember being sent to the Leonhart estate with Ellone?"</p>
      <p>Squall fell silent. He did have a vague memory, when he prodded at the recesses of his mind. The ancestral home of the Leonhart clan, two hours' ride from the castle, was the house where Ellone lived now. It was the house he had fled to while Rinoa had been in residence at the castle, only to be scolded and hastened back by his sister. Perhaps Kiros already knew that; perhaps not. It was not information that Squall cared to share, at any rate.</p>
      <p>He recalled how Zell had arrived at the house with a sack of coins and various weapons confiscated from criminals in Squall's absence.</p>
      <p>"<em>M'lady has been asking about you again, m'lord," Zell said cheerfully as he passed the sack to Squall for perusal.</em></p>
      <p>
        <em>Squall lifted out a curved dagger, the sheath inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and turned it over in his hands."That is not my concern."</em>
      </p>
      <p>
        <em>Ellone set down the basket of bamboo shoots she carried in her hands, and sent an open-handed slap ringing across Squall's shoulder blades. "Then whose concern is it? How long have you left that poor girl alone there, five days? How do you think she will fare against Father's onslaught of charm and idiocy?"</em>
      </p>
      <p>
        <em>Squall scowled and took a bamboo shoot from the basket, biting into the crunchy stalk. The lands of the Leonhart estate provided enough for Ellone to live on, and more; she spent most of her time raising greens and grain to sell to the local villagers. "That 'poor girl' is hardly a wilting meadow flower," he said. "She was a street criminal who begged me to let her fight a charging Behemoth. It may be Father who deserves our pity."</em>
      </p>
      <p>He thought of Rinoa's face - 'Rin', as she had been then - staring up at in the forest after her friends' escape, proud and defiant, bright shards of moonlight glinting in her dark eyes. It occurred to Squall that if he were a different sort of man, he might have bent his head to kiss her then. <em>And received a fierce slap in return, no doubt,</em> he conceded.</p>
      <p>In truth, he had intended to return to the castle sooner. It was sheer avoidance that made him stay away, as if the situation would dissolve the longer he ignored it. Of course, it had not, and he had been foolish to delay. Squall blinked, an unwelcome realization surfacing in his mind. Was he not guilty of the same cowardice as Laguna, wishing away the spectre of the witch under the ice?</p>
      <p>"Squall?"</p>
      <p>He had allowed his thoughts to wander back to her, yet again. Kiros and Ward were looking at him, waiting for him to take action. Clarity reached in his mind, Squall knew that now was the time to act. Matters must be confronted, not pushed away. If Laguna was unable to face the consequences of his failure, then the task must fall to his son. And Squall would prove himself worthy.</p>
      <p>"As I said. I will not flee. Let us set about making our plans."</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter VIII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.</p><hr/>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter VIII</strong>
</p>
<p>Life beside the shores of Lake Vienne had been good to Rinoa.</p>
<p>In the weeks that had passed since her arrival, the chill in the air had lessened, replaced by the scents of spring carried on the wind from the south. Frost no longer covered the ground in the mornings, and the last of the snows were sodden and mushy, closer to rain. Rinoa was excited to experience warmth in this new land that was now her home: to see what colors the blossoms and flowers of the coming seasons would bring, to taste the first sour berries of summer, to feel the soft rays of Trabian sunshine on her face.</p>
<p>Alongside her daily work with the nomads, she had kept her thoughts busy by mapping her surroundings in her mind. The shape of the lake, the two tree-covered islands at its center - when the summer came, she would swim out to them, she decided - the winding streams that trickled through the forests, the dirt paths that were the vestiges of roads trodden by Trabian traders in years gone by. Rinoa promised herself that if the day came again when she might hold paper and an ink-pen in her hands, she would bring the map to life. For now, it would stay in her head, gaining new squares and new details every day.</p>
<p>She was surprised at how easy it had been to fall into a natural hierarchy with the nomads. It was a given that Quistis' words, few and infrequent as they were, were never questioned. When Quistis was silent, Xu was the one whose instructions Rinoa followed, and when she needed detail or explanation, she looked to Nida for guidance. Rinoa had always hated the idea of taking orders, from her father or from anybody else, and yet Xu's commands did not trigger her knee-jerk stubbornness. Perhaps it was Xu's straightforward, unemotional delivery. Maybe it was the obvious need to work together for survival in a world stripped bare of the complications of settled society. Or perhaps, wondered Rinoa, it was simply the fact that she was, at last, growing up. It was time enough to do so, surely. She had greeted her twenty-first birthday more than two months ago in Esthar, on a chilly evening in a downtown tavern huddled around a bubbling hotpot with Selphie and Irvine. It felt as though years had passed since then.</p>
<p>On an evening when the breeze had softened enough for her to shed Squall's cloak and let the last light of the sun fall on her arms, she was watching Nida fletch his arrows with crow's feathers picked from the lakeshore after a scuffle between two birds. His heavy brows were set in concentration as he split the feathers in half at the quill, and trimmed their edges with his knife. He then moved onto preparing the arrow shafts, already whittled and shaped from slender young birch.</p>
<p>"Hold the first one for me, will you, Rin?" he asked, and she obliged. Rinoa held the arrow shaft as still as she could while Nida cut a v-shaped nock in the wood, and wrapped the feathers on tightly with fine sinew taken from forest meat. Nida knew how to use every part of an animal: the hide, the bones, the sinew along the leg muscles. Rinoa marveled at how much was wasted in Galbadia and Esthar in comparison.</p>
<p>"Good. Next one, I think." He turned the arrow in his fingers, testing its stiffness. Rinoa had come to enjoy the gleam of satisfaction that crept across his face at a task well-accomplished. She held out her hands to take the next arrow shaft, and they repeated the process in companionable silence.</p>
<p>They had completed a dozen arrows when Xu came stomping over, sword at her waist and a grim line pulling her mouth downwards. Quistis was at her back, her expression somber.</p>
<p>"What is it?" Rinoa asked, as Nida stood, gathering the arrows.</p>
<p>"Use your eyes," Xu said, her gaze directed southwards, towards the path that led to the village.</p>
<p>Rinoa squinted against the setting sun, and saw that there was a group of people moving towards the lake, small figures still half a mile or so away. She could make out the shapes of six or seven men, one of whom Rinoa was sure was the burly figure of the miller. He carried an axe in his hands.</p>
<p>"What could they want from us?" she wondered aloud. None of the nomads answered.</p>
<p>Nida stood, slinging the quiver across his shoulders. "Xu, I am ready when you are."</p>
<p>Without a word, Xu began walking in the direction of the men, and Nida quickly caught up. Rinoa rose to her feet, unsure if she should follow.</p>
<p>Quistis laid a cool hand on her shoulder. "No, little thief. Stay here with me. We will wait together." Rinoa looked up at her questioningly.</p>
<p>"If I go to meet them, they will attack on sight. It is better to have Xu hear their grievance first." Quistis kneeled in the sand and wrapped her arms around her body. "She and Nida are Trabians. The villagers are more likely to hear sense when it is spoken by those from the same land. Let us hope they will listen."</p>
<p>Quistis did not speak as they waited, her eyes fixed on the south. The daylight faded quickly, and it became harder to make out what was happening, but after a while, Rinoa could see Xu and Nida walking back towards the lake. The group of villagers, however, did not retreat. They were standing in the wide open steppeland, watching Xu and Nida move away.</p>
<p>Xu strode towards the camp, her face twisted in disgust.</p>
<p>"The same as ever. Misfortune that they ascribe to you," she told Quistis.</p>
<p>"What misfortune?"</p>
<p>"An infant died in its slumber, without clear cause. The fools cannot imagine any other reason than witchcraft."</p>
<p>Quistis straightened and gave a heavy sigh. Then she turned wordlessly to her tent, and began dismantling it, untying the canvas covering and pulling it off the metal frame. She caught sight of Rinoa's look of confusion, and said, "There is no hope in staying here."</p>
<p>"What? Why?"</p>
<p>Quistis held out the canvas sheet to fold, motioning Rinoa to take the opposite ends. "You are young; perhaps you have not yet learned that there is no greater pain than the loss of a child. Nothing I can say will ever reach their ears." Rinoa numbly took hold of the edge of the canvas, and stared as Quistis turned to Xu.</p>
<p>"Tell them we will move North, and they shall be spared from my presence henceforth."</p>
<p>Xu nodded, and began to walk away.</p>
<p>"But they have no right! How can you let them drive us from our home like this?"</p>
<p>Quistis met Rinoa's outburst with blank eyes, took the now-folded canvas in her hands, and said nothing.</p>
<p>"<em>Home? </em>We are nomads," said Xu. "Nomads have no home. Have you understood nothing of our lives?"</p>
<p>"I- But-"</p>
<p>Xu did not wait to hear Rinoa's defense. Nida patted her shoulder in sympathy. "We move on, Rin. We always do. Chin up," he said, before picking up speed to join Xu in delivering Quistis' message.</p>
<p>Rinoa was left standing helplessly on the sand, watching them leave. Hands shaking, she knelt to attend to her own tent, fumbling with the ties.</p>
<p>"This is how we live," said Quistis quietly. "If it displeases you, you are always free to leave."</p>
<p>Rinoa bowed her head over the tent frame, hiding her hot cheeks from sight. She did not think Quistis was angry, but then, she did not know what anger might look like on Quistis.</p>
<p>"I spoke out of turn," she said.</p>
<p>"No. We must always be able to speak our minds. None of you should cower in fear before me. I have never wished for that." Quistis gathered the bundle of steel rods and stuffed them inside one of the heavy hide travel packs. She lifted her head to meet Rinoa's eyes. "Still, we must leave this place. Will we leave it together?"</p>
<p>"Yes. We will." Rinoa vowed, and set about packing up the nomads' belongings.</p><hr/>
<p>They traveled through the night, putting as much distance between themselves and the villagers as possible, before making camp in the mid-morning at the foot of the western mountain range. The grassy steppeland had given way to rocky tundra, covered with patches of snow, and the journey was treacherous in the dark. Rinoa had slipped twice on unseen ice, the heavy pack on her back bringing her balance crashing down, with Nida pulling her to her feet afterwards. She could barely speak from tiredness as they set up the tents, and slept deeply until the early evening, when she was roused by the smell of the cooking pot. Nida had awoken sometime after noon, and had shot two game birds from a nearby forest thick with snow. Rinoa ate the meat hungrily, and drank melted snow-water from the kettle until she was sated.</p>
<p>The nomads did not seem to share Rinoa's distress at leaving Lake Vienne. Nida was already his usual self, laughing and genial. Xu, though quieter than usual, had a gleam in her eyes that Rinoa took to be excitement. She had a feeling that Xu relished being on the move once again, welcomed by the wide landscapes and open skies of the northern Trabian lands. Xu, born in a place where the snow rarely melted, did not fear the far North as Rinoa did. She listened as Xu and Quistis decided on their next destination: the southern reaches of Bika Snowfield. The forests there would provide shelter and food, Xu reasoned. And so it was settled. Another five, maybe six days' travel, and they would be close enough to choose a spot to set up camp.</p>
<p>The journey did not grow easier, even in daylight. As their path rose higher into the mountains, the snowfall thickened, and the winds from the north were bitter. Rinoa's breath came out as a cloud of white around her mouth, except for an hour or so either side of high noon on a clear day. The fires Quistis lit were the only source of warmth when the dusk fell. At night, Rinoa's only comfort was the cloak Squall had given her. She wrapped it around her face, letting it cover her frozen nose until she had to pull it away, gasping for breath. Rinoa sometimes wondered idly if the scent that lingered in the leather was Squall's. It was not unpleasant, far from it; it was sweet and mild, and reminded her of the rice-milk soap in Esthar Castle's bathhouse. He must have bathed there, after all. She felt a heat spread over her skin at the idea of Squall soaking in the cypress wood bathtub, his hair wet, his eyes closed as the steam rose up from the water. What she would have given to be there right now, warm and safe. Even if it meant...</p>
<p><em>Stop it. </em>Rinoa pushed Squall's face out of her mind, and scolded herself for letting her thoughts dwell on him so often. He surely was not thinking of her in return. It had been months since her escape. She was sure to have been forgotten by now. Perhaps a new bride had already been found for the heir to Esthar. Some other woman would marry him, love him, and bear his children. Not her.</p><hr/>
<p>The snow was falling, light and soft, when they neared the forest at the south of the Bika region. The snowfield lay to the north, vast and featureless, and a small hamlet nestled at the side of a hill to the east, a cluster of log houses, smoke trailing up into the sky. Quistis gazed eastwards, her face troubled.</p>
<p>"We should go to them in greeting," said Xu. "Assure them that we will cause them no trouble. Nida and I will do it."</p>
<p>"It may not be wise, this time." Quistis tore her eyes away from the village, and frowned at Xu. "Word travels faster than we do. If their elder has already heard from Vienne-"</p>
<p>"Better to announce our presence now, than to have them discover it later," Xu shrugged. Nida folded his arms at her side. "She is right. They will shoot us if they chance upon us in the woods."</p>
<p>Quistis considered their words, and nodded, her expression still conflicted. "Then go. But Xu, do not press the matter. If they are hostile, tell them we will find somewhere else."</p>
<p>After Xu and Nida set off for the hamlet, Quistis directed Rinoa to gather dry twigs, and lit a small fire. She knelt over it, warming her hands, and Rinoa joined her.</p>
<p>"Surely, if they met you, they would know that you intend no harm. Why do you not reason with them?" she asked.</p>
<p>"Fear can rarely be reasoned with." Quistis watched the flames dance and crackle, and was silent for a while before she spoke again. "Those who hate and fear Sorceresses do so because they hate and fear women. Never forget that, little thief. They hate our bodies, the bodies that gave them life, and our hearts, the hearts that loved them and shaped their minds. They hate a woman who rejects their ways; all they see in her is their mother, chastising them or refusing them comfort, and it ignites their rage. More than anything, they fear the possibility of a woman with great power. One strong enough to lead other women to rise up and overthrow the order of the ages in which we are sold, traded, beaten and trodden into the dirt. A woman with magic will always sow more fear in men's hearts than a man with strength. Always."</p>
<p>Rinoa stared, lost for words. She had never heard Quistis speak at such length, nor with such intensity. If the world was truly as Quistis said, then they could never be safe. Had Quistis accepted that? Was that simply the fate of a Sorceress?</p>
<p>"But... there are good men, too, are there not?" she asked, pleading for Quistis' reassurance. Rinoa thought of Nida, and of Squall. She trusted Nida with her life, and she felt sure she could trust Squall with it, too.</p>
<p>"Yes. There are always good men," Quistis' mouth curved into a fond smile as she turned her head to the east, and Rinoa knew she, too, was thinking of Nida. "Never forget that, either. And as there are good women, there will always be women eager to burn the witch. They do not realize that when they burn their sisters, they only burn themselves."</p>
<p>Rinoa clenched her hands against the flames, warming her knuckles. "How can you bear it? How could anyone swim against the tide of such hatred?"</p>
<p>"Living like this, hidden away from the world, is the only solution I have found. If I lived among them..." Quistis shook her head. "There have been others who choose that path. But not I."</p>
<p>They sat silently, and Rinoa became lost in her thoughts. Without warning, the fire stuttered out, and Quistis clutched her chest, bent over in sudden pain.</p>
<p>"Ni... Nida... has gone," she whispered.</p>
<p>"What?" Rinoa asked in alarm. "How do you-"</p>
<p>"He was my Knight." Quistis raised her head, and her face was heavy with anguish. "Oh, Nida... I have lost Knights before, but he was the best of them." She closed her eyes, and covered them with her hands.</p>
<p>Rinoa's mouth was dry. "Xu... Is she?"</p>
<p>"I do not know. I am not bound to her as I was to him."</p>
<p>Quistis struggled to her feet, and picked her way over the forest floor to the expanse of tundra that spread towards the village. Rinoa stumbled after her. They started to run, boots sinking into the snow, and picked up speed when a figure became visible amid the snowfall, a hunched figure dragging her feet forwards, determined to keep walking towards them. Xu.</p>
<p>Xu dropped to the ground before they reached her, her hands clutching her side where the shaft of an arrow dug into her ribs. A second, bloodied wound at her abdomen showed where another arrow had pierced, one that Xu had ripped out. The arrow at her ribs was lodged too deep. Rinoa stared at slim birchwood shaft and the crow's feathers, soaked and spattered red with Xu's blood. Feathers that Rinoa had held in her hands at the lakeside, only days before.</p>
<p>"They shot you... with his arrows?" she said, and Xu nodded weakly.</p>
<p>"Nida..." she rasped, her eyes on Quistis. "You already know?"</p>
<p>"Yes. I do."</p>
<p>"Forgive me. I was too slow to save him. Their anger... we were unprepared."</p>
<p>"It is I who should ask for your forgiveness, Xu." Tears were running silently down Quistis' face. She sunk to her knees at Xu's side.</p>
<p>"No. You gave me a home when I had none. I am proud to die defending you."</p>
<p>"My life was never worth yours," said Quistis, her voice thick with pain. Her fingertips glowed, and a swirl of pale blue magic dispersed into the frozen air around them.</p>
<p>"Can you heal her?" Rinoa asked, desperation pulling at her heart. Xu could not die too, not here, not like this...</p>
<p>Xu dragged her hand away from her ribs, and covered Quistis' fingers with her own. "It is too late."</p>
<p>"I must try."</p>
<p>"<em>No</em>,"said Xu, with sudden force. "We both know the cost, and I will not accept it." She shot a meaningful glance at Rinoa. "If you will not think of yourself, then think of her."</p>
<p>"Me? Why me?" Rinoa stammered.</p>
<p>Neither woman answered her. Xu's nails were digging into Quistis' skin now, though Quistis showed no sign of pain.</p>
<p>"Will she take my place?" Xu asked, her breath heavy.</p>
<p>"I could never take your place. I am a thief, not a warrior."</p>
<p>Xu tried to shake her head, then stopped at the pain the motion caused. "Not that." She looked back at Quistis, eyes ablaze. "Tell her."</p>
<p>"In time." Quistis' tears were flowing freely, but her face was set, solemn and resolute.</p>
<p>Xu's eyes traveled between Rinoa and Quistis, and her agitation subsided as she seemed to reach an answer to a question Rinoa did not understand. Her eyelids sagged lower, her gaze on Rinoa all the while, and when her eyes finally closed, her ragged breathing slowed into short, shallow breaths that all too soon, faded away.</p>
<p>Quistis bowed her head low over Xu's body, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.</p>
<p>"What did she mean?" Rinoa asked, too stunned to take in the fact that Xu was no longer breathing, Xu was dead, Xu was gone.</p>
<p>"In time, little thief," Quistis answered, and turned her face away to be washed clean by the falling snow.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter IX</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter IX</strong>
</p>
<p>They buried Xu under the snow, as best they could with frozen bare hands. Rinoa knew that any attempt to retrieve Nida's body would end in more death. Even so, the thought of him lying there alone amongst enemies was unbearable, and she wept for him. She wept for Xu, too, as she heaped clumps of snow over the Trabian warrior's lifeless limbs. She asked Quistis how they might mark the spot where Xu lay, so that when the spring came and the snows melted, they might return and give her a proper burial.</p>
<p>"Nomads place no value on a grave," Quistis said, her tears now dried. "To return to the soil is enough. Let us move north, before the villagers decide to seek us."</p>
<p>They picked their way across the path back to the woods, the snowflakes massing around them. Quistis instructed Rinoa to take only the bare minimum from their packs, and abandon the rest to the snow.</p>
<p>"We must travel as light as we can. It would be folly to slow ourselves down for the price of a few extra comforts."</p>
<p>The smallest tent was big enough only for one, so Rinoa carried the tent that had been Xu's on her back, leaving the cooking pot, tools and sleeping furs to Quistis. They spoke little as they left and made their way further north. The wind bit and whipped at Rinoa's skin, her reddened eyes stinging, and she fell in step behind Quistis, still numb to the truth of what had happened. They had been four; in the blink of an eye, they were two.</p>
<p>Bika Snowfield lay ahead to the north, blank and hostile, a world of nothingness. Quistis led Rinoa to the western cliff that edged the snowfield, a great sheer wall of rock. Night had fallen long before. How far into the night they had walked, Rinoa did not know. It could be morning for all she knew. The snowclouds were thick, obscuring the sky, and whether it was moon or rising sun that they hid, she could not be sure.</p>
<p>Quistis guided her to a small cave in the cliff, its entrance almost invisible from a distance. They climbed inside, and she saw that the cavern was larger than it appeared: large enough for a dozen people to bed down and sleep. For two, it was a palace.</p>
<p>"You knew this was here," Rinoa said. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and took in the pile of dry branches stacked neatly by the cave wall, the scattered ashes that remained of a fire. "These are yours?"</p>
<p>"Yes. It has been some months since we were last here."</p>
<p>Quistis gathered the firewood, and lit a fire at a spot close to the entrance. Rinoa saw that it was just far enough inside for the fire to remain hidden from sight from across the snowfield, but close enough for the smoke to find its way out into the air. She unpacked the sleeping furs and laid them out on the cave floor.</p>
<p>Rinoa sat on the furs, Squall's cloak wrapped tightly around her, and watched the fire flicker up towards Quistis' impassive face.</p>
<p>"Please, Quistis," she said, after a while, when she could hold her tongue no longer. "Tell me what she meant. How could I take her place?"</p>
<p>"Xu was to be my Successor. The receptacle for my powers when I die."</p>
<p>"But I could not be... I could never-"</p>
<p>Quistis gave her a look of dry pity, tinged with bitterness. "<em>Could never? </em>It is not a case of ability, nor potential. The magic flows to the nearest woman, be she maiden, mother or crone. Or child, even, as I was. There no choice involved in Succession. It is merely a matter of proximity. A blunt instrument."</p>
<p>"And it was to be Xu?"</p>
<p>"Yes. Now, little thief, it shall be you."</p>
<p>Rinoa drew back, unnerved by the finality of Quistis' tone. "You are still young. Succession must be a distant prospect, years in the future. Why did Xu ask with such urgency?"</p>
<p>Quistis was silent. Without looking at Rinoa, her fingers worked at the fastenings on the bodice of her worn traveling garb. When she had drawn the leather aside, she rolled up the cotton undershirt to the top of her ribs, the firelight revealing mangled, twisted flesh.</p>
<p>Rinoa stared at the wound that cut across Quistis' torso, stretching from just below her breast-band to the side of her left hip. It was deep, the torn skin darkened and exposed, and it was more awful than any scar Rinoa had ever seen.</p>
<p>"What... happened to you?"</p>
<p>"Adel gave me this wound. She was cast out into Trabia, when Laguna Loire felled her from power. I assume you know the story."</p>
<p>"But I was a babe-in-arms when Adel was expelled." Rinoa frowned at Quistis' flawless face, unlined and unweathered. "You cannot be more than a few years older-</p>
<p>"I am much, much older than I look." Quistis pulled her undershirt back down and began refastening her bodice. "Adel was near death when she reached the Northern lands. A Sorceress knows when another is near. She sensed me, and waited some years for her strength to trickle back before she sought me out. She hoped to kill me and take my powers, to heal herself and retake Esthar."</p>
<p>"But you defeated her?"</p>
<p>"Barely." Quistis' eyes darkened, and Rinoa thought it better not to ask more.</p>
<p>"I can only think that Laguna Loire did not know of my existence then. He was foolish to send her here. Perhaps he hoped she would languish in the snow, weak and unable to die, for generations to come. Perhaps he simply considered her to be Trabia's problem as soon as she was gone from his domain. I do not know, nor do I care to."</p>
<p>"Then what happened to her powers?" Rinoa asked, the answer already forming in her mind.</p>
<p>"They became mine. At much cost. I would never have taken them willingly. I only fought her to save my own life, and to save others from her tyranny. It would have been easier for me to die that day." She moved her hand across her belly, touching her hip. "This wound... It is, and will be, my death. A slow death, but a death nonetheless. My time is nearly at an end."</p>
<p>Rinoa struggled to find her voice. "How long?"</p>
<p>"Perhaps a year. Less, if I am forced to use strong magic. There is a reason you have never seen me cast a spell other than lighting a fire. I have little energy left to sustain my sorcery."</p>
<p>Quistis gazed into the flames, then added quietly, "I have fought her for fifteen years. I cannot fight much longer. I am weary."</p>
<p>"Her? Adel? But she is dead, is she not?"</p>
<p>"Not all of her. She is... within. She will always be there. She resides in the magic she passed to me, and she hates that I do not allow myself to wield it."</p>
<p>She glanced down at her hand, and Rinoa saw a faint glow form at Quistis' fingertips. It was an icy, pale blue, the color of Quistis' eyes. She watched. Every so often, a spark of angry, bloodied red leapt into the blue, and fizzled away as the lighter color enfolded and neutralized it.</p>
<p>"That is... the red color is...?" Rinoa whispered.</p>
<p>"That is her. Yes. Every waking moment, I battle against her in this way. And so I fight on."</p>
<hr/>
<p>Morning light poured into the entrance of the cave, or perhaps it was the light of midday, Rinoa decided, after the falling snow finally ebbed to tiny flakes, and then nothing. She rose, finding Quistis tending to the fire, and together they drunk hot water boiled from melted snow. They ate the last of the dried meat caught by Nida days before, and began to prepare to move on. Rinoa gathered a handful of snow from the ground outside, and used it to douse the fire while Quistis packed away the cooking pot.</p>
<p>She gazed out over the snowfield, now transformed by the sun into an sea of dazzling white. Movement in the trees a quarter-league away caught her eye, and she brought her hand to her brow to cut out the bright sun. A figure clad in furs scrambled down from a tree and raced across the snow, with the long legs and awkward gait of a youth, barely more than a boy.</p>
<p>Quistis came to stand at her side, joining Rinoa in watching the boy dwindle to a tiny speck in the distance.</p>
<p>"Should we give chase?" Rinoa asked.</p>
<p>"No. Let him return to them with his sighting of us. Those that fear me seem to fixate on knowing exactly where I am. Perhaps it allows them to feel they have the upper hand. The villagers at Vienne were the same. If they see for long enough that we will not approach, they will let us be." Quistis hoisted the pack to her back and tied the cord around her waist. "There are forests to the east of the snowfield. We will head there."</p>
<p>Rinoa took her own pack from the cave, and together they set off on the journey across Bika Snowfield, further and deeper into the bitter cold.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It soon became apparent to Rinoa that they had left a land on the verge of spring for one where the promise of green was a far-off whisper. The last patches of exposed grass and bare earth soon gave way to thick snowdrifts that often came to the top of her boots, spilling over the sides and working their damp way through her socks to her toes. She was awed by the great white expanse of it. Snow had been a delight, a treat in Galbadia; a light dusting on midwinter's eve, if she was lucky, and she had often longed to see it all through the winter. Now the reality of it was in front of her - ahead and below, and all around - and she saw its deadliness as well as its beauty.</p>
<p>Her own existence was laughably insignificant against all this. She was little more substantial than a fleck of dust, or a drop of water. In a place like this, a human life could be snuffed out like a candle. Even with a Sorceress at her side, Rinoa reminded herself. Now that she knew Quistis was dying, her assumption that she could rely on Quistis' protection had melted away. Rinoa was well used to fear, or so she had thought; but the stark likelihood of death had never been so close.</p>
<p>Until now. <em>The Reaper's breath is on my neck, </em>she thought. <em>I must not give him the satisfaction.</em></p>
<p>Quistis reached across and stilled her arm, and they both stopped in their tracks. Far ahead, gliding across the snowfield, was a cloud of blue mist in the shape of a woman. No - Rinoa rubbed at her eyes - she <em>was </em>a woman, an impossible woman, as tall as Laguna's castle, her skin the hue of an afternoon sky, barely clad in scraps of silk twisted around her body. She moved with perfect grace, clouds of sparkling ice dust formed in her wake. Rinoa's heart lurched at first, then she began to feel a curious sense of calm. The unearthly creature held her audience spellbound as she passed into a thick flurry of snow to the west, and was lost from sight.</p>
<p>Rinoa breathed again. "What... Who was she?"</p>
<p>"There is a Guardian in this place," said Quistis. "I have seen her before. I believe she is the one known as Shiva."</p>
<p>The oldest books in Lord Caraway's library had held mentions of Guardian Forces. Rinoa, like all Galbadians, had always assumed them to be the stuff of legend. But she could not deny what her eyes had seen, and felt her world shift on its axis yet again. The gods were real, and she was a Sorceress' heir. Nothing was unthinkable, not any more. The sky could break open to reveal a field of flowers, and she would have accepted it as truth.</p>
<p>"Will she harm us?" she asked Quistis.</p>
<p>"Not if we leave her be."</p>
<p>"Aid us, then?" Rinoa dared to imagine, for a moment, how it might be to be saved, to be brought to warmth and shelter.</p>
<p>"I do not know. Perhaps. But we would be fools to expect it." Quistis shook the snow from her hair. "Let us persevere. We shall have a better chance if we reach the forest by nightfall."</p>
<hr/>
<p>As they pushed northwards, gentle undulations shaped the snowfield into hills. Hard work to climb, to gain footholds in the snow, but almost a joy to tumble and skid down. Rinoa's legs had been trembling for hours. Whether it was with cold or exhaustion, she could not be sure. She stopped, bent over to catch her breath, while Quistis offered her water from her flask, still warm from the morning's fire.</p>
<p>"How much longer?" she asked between sips.</p>
<p>"We are more than halfway, I think," said Quistis. Her face was grim, and Rinoa followed her eyes to two black dots on the horizon to their rear, too small to make out clearly.</p>
<p>"The villagers have pursued us this far?"</p>
<p>The two dots moved up the snowy slope, and vanished over the hill. The speed and manner of their movement was too fast and smooth to be men on foot. Rinoa felt quite sure they must have been mounted on chocobos. A shiver passed through her. Under the bright clear sky, she and Quistis were completely exposed on the snowfield. There was nowhere to hide for miles all around. Whoever the two scouts had been, there was no mistaking that they had spotted their quarry.</p>
<p>"What should we do?" she asked Quistis.</p>
<p>"We move on. What choice do we have?"</p>
<p>They carried on through the deep snow, their pace less steady, more urgent than before. Rinoa could not stop herself from looking back over her shoulder every few steps. They had walked less than half a league when her fears were realized: the dots had returned.</p>
<p>There were many more of them now, fifteen or twenty, she thought. They stood in a line of chocobos, a controlled, precise formation that Rinoa knew was no angry mob.</p>
<p>Quistis stared into the distance with narrowed eyes. "Those are not Trabian villagers. They must have sought assistance from the South. Or perhaps Laguna Loire has finally seen fit to tidy up his mess."</p>
<p>Rinoa's lips were numb with cold. "Quistis, what can we-"</p>
<p>"They are here to stop us going east. Where would they have us flee to? This is the furthest north we can go. Any further, and there will be no game for us to hunt. If they push us west into the Hawkwind Plains, we will starve there too; there are no forests." Quistis' face tightened with resolve. "No, this time I will face them. What else do I have to lose?"</p>
<p><em>Me,</em> thought Rinoa, then felt ashamed at her selfishness. Quistis seemed to read her thoughts and smiled, gripping Rinoa's arm with her cold fingers.</p>
<p>"Do not be afraid, little thief. I will not let you die."</p>
<p>The line of chocobos had torn free, moving rapidly towards them. Rinoa could make out black cloaks and the glint of steel as they advanced closer. At her side, Quistis' hands glowed.</p>
<p>"You could kill them all with a twist of your fingers," Rinoa said, as soon as the realization entered her mind.</p>
<p>"I could."</p>
<p>"But you will not. Because you will die?"</p>
<p>"No. Because I am not Adel."</p>
<p>The rider in the center raised his hand high in a signal to the others, a black glove stark against the snow. Red-orange sparks appeared, scattered among the riders, and Rinoa saw, to her horror, that they were archers with flaming arrows. And they were closing in.</p>
<p>Quistis' voice rang out, clear and powerful. "Lady Shiva! I ask for your favor! <em>Bring us a blizzard!</em>"</p>
<p>Magic leapt from Quistis' hands, and a shimmering bubble formed around herself and Rinoa. Rinoa reached out to touch it with a finger, and found an thick, impenetrable wall in the air. A spell of protection.</p>
<p>Snow was falling now, and it quickly grew thick and heavy before her eyes. Rinoa could not see any sign of Shiva, but she hoped desperately that the Guardian had answered Quistis' plea. The snow flew in all directions, hiding the riders from sight, but their blazing arrows streaked through the sky and hit the magical sphere, fizzling into steam and smoke.</p>
<p>Quistis' eyes were shut tight in concentration, and each time an arrow collided with the spell, she shuddered violently. "It may not hold," she gasped to Rinoa. "Be ready to flee."</p>
<p>The center rider, the commander, was a birds-length ahead of the others, and as he rode closer, Rinoa began to make out his face through the snow. No... it could not be. No, this was cruel.</p>
<p>The army was Squall's, and his sword was drawn, gleaming brilliantly against the sea of white.</p>
<p>"<em>Rinoa!?"</em></p>
<p>Her name was torn from his lips, and somehow reached her ears on the wind above the sounds of battle.</p>
<p>"Hold your fire," he shouted, but his words were lost in the din of screaming chocobos, and the rain of arrows only thickened.</p>
<p>He pulled at the harness of his chocobo, and rode at a fierce speed through the whirling snow towards her. Somehow she was calling his name, reaching her hand out to him. Reaching desperately for the life of safety and luxury in Esthar castle, the life she had rejected. A gilded cage, yes, but she had spurned it for ice, hunger, fear and death. And she had spurned him, too, the chance to love and be loved by him, and even so, he was still coming for her, to save her.</p>
<p>"<em>Squall!</em>" she cried, tears freezing on her cheeks as soon as they seeped out into the icy air.</p>
<p>"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Squall roared again, and he was stretching his arm out too, and soon they would be touching, and maybe this could all be ended-</p>
<p>Quistis' voice came ragged at her side. "Forgive me... I cannot hold it..."</p>
<p>The spell of protection flickered and vanished, and Rinoa's scream as the arrows hurtled closer was buried in Quistis' arms, pulling her close, hands wrapped gently around the crown of Rinoa's head, a rapid incantation whispered somewhere close to her ear.</p>
<p>The snowfield blinked and winked away, and all was dark; impossibly so. No, more than merely dark, it was a void of complete nothingness, and Rinoa could neither breathe nor move her body, suspended in the endless blackness.</p>
<p>Then the air rushed into her lungs, salty, warm air, thick like syrup, and her knees crashed against hot sand that stuck to the remnants of snow on her hands.</p>
<p>Overhead was bright sunlight. A cloudless sky, the bright blue of summer.</p>
<p>Quistis rolled onto her back and gasped up at the sky, and Rinoa sank to her side, and the only sounds she heard were the waves lapping against the shore and the cries of circling seabirds.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter X</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Chapter X</strong>
</p><p>The faded leather of Quistis' garb was stained red with blood, flowing so fast that it spilled out onto the sands, each bright droplet coated by a crown of fine grains.</p><p>Rinoa swallowed her rising bile at the sight, understanding what this meant. Quistis' use of powerful magic had forced her to surrender to the death-wound inflicted by Adel. It was now no longer blackened and old, but as red and fresh as the day it was made.</p><p>"But Quistis, you-"</p><p>"This was always going to happen." Quistis took a series of slow breaths and heaved her torso up until she was half-sitting. "It may as well be now. Do not pity me." She turned her head to the rising dune above them, and a wave of recognition and relief spread across her taut face.</p><p>Rinoa followed her eyes. The dune sloped up to the rocky outcrop above, where age-worn stone steps cut a winding path through a wall of rocks that obscured what lay beyond. Behind Rinoa and Quistis, the beach fell away to a small sandy strip, meeting a vast blue ocean, empty and still. The shoreline tapered to a point where an old stone lighthouse stood, its walls crumbling into rubble, its flame surely long-extinguished.</p><p>"Where have you brought us?"</p><p>"We are in Centra. The South. This is the Cape of Good Hope. My mother's home is close. Take me there."</p><p>"Your mother is alive?" Rinoa asked, as she gently pulled Quistis' arm around her shoulder and brought them both to a standing position.</p><p>"My foster mother. A Sorceress lives alone here, since long before I was born. Her name is Edea." Quistis leaned her weight against Rinoa and allowed her to drag them both slowly towards the steps. "I inherited a traveling Sorceress' gift when I was eight, quite by accident. My parents were already long dead. I was a burden to my village since my infancy. An unwanted orphan, another mouth to feed. When the power came to me, I was banished to the wilds of Centra. Edea took me in as her fosterling. She taught me how to control and wield my magic."</p><p>Rinoa could feel the wet warmth of Quistis' blood soaking into her side. She looked down at her boots, and saw the trail of red they were leaving along the stone steps. She heaved Quistis to the next step, caught her breath, then heaved again to the next. They climbed upwards, breath by breath.</p><p>"The Esthari commander," Quistis said. "The swordsman. He knew you. Why?"</p><p>"He took me prisoner once. Then released me."</p><p>"He loves you."</p><p>"No, I don't... I don't think that can be so."</p><p>"I've lived long enough to know the face of a man in love, Rinoa."</p><p>Rinoa's mind barely registered the sound of her true name from Quistis' lips. Whether Quistis had learned it from Squall's cry across the battlefield, or had somehow known all along, she did not think to ask.</p><p>"His father planned for us to marry," she said, numbly.</p><p>Quistis was silent for a while as she strained to lift her feet to the next step. "You would have been treated well, I think."</p><p>"I told him I will be the wife of no man."</p><p>"And you shall not, little thief. You are my Successor." There was pride in Quistis' voice, Rinoa thought, and she felt her own chest swell with it.</p><p>They had neared the end of the steps now, where two grandiose stone columns stood tall at the top. The columns were cracked, and coated with dense sprawling vines, but neither fact robbed them of their solemn elegance.</p><p>"It is ahead," Quistis said, an eager light in her eyes that Rinoa had never before seen.</p><p>She tightened her hold of Quistis' torso, and hauled them both to the top step. A stone house, framed by several more columns, was in clear sight now. Quistis stumbled, her legs buckling under her, and collapsed onto the flagstone path. Rinoa heard a pained, wordless cry sound from somewhere above. A woman's voice.</p><p>The figure of a woman, tall and clothed in black from head to toe, had emerged from the house and was rushing towards them, her long hair streaming behind her like a curtain of black lace. She picked her way over the fallen columns and rocks that strewed the path. As she reached them, Rinoa saw that her face had the same ageless quality as Quistis', but there was an immense depth in her eyes that might have taken centuries to accumulate.</p><p>Quistis' expression, always so guarded, broke into a radiant smile that was forged of unbridled joy. Of homecoming, and of peace found at the end of a long road.</p><p>"Mother," she whispered, and the woman knelt on the stones to cradle Quistis' bloodied body against her own.</p><p>"My dear one. My beloved child." She spoke soothingly, stroking Quistis as if calming a crying infant, and something deeply-buried in Rinoa's chest cried out at the memories that were stirred. A mother's touch, and a mother's love. All that she had lived without.</p><p>"Are you... Edea?" Rinoa asked, and saw the woman nod into Quistis' tangled hair.</p><p>"Then is there anything you can-"</p><p>"No. There is nothing." She was bent in grief, her forehead against Quistis' cheek.</p><p>Quistis twisted her head free and found Rinoa's gaze. "It is as I said. You must not pity me."</p><p>"But-" Rinoa's voice was thick, fighting its way through the tears that had begun to flow. "This could have been avoided... You could have had another year to-"</p><p>"This is all I wanted. To die on my own terms. To see my mother's face one more time. There is nothing for you to mourn. Rinoa, do not weep. Listen."</p><p>She pushed out her blood-streaked hand and gripped Rinoa's fingers with unexpected strength. "Adel's magic... fights for dominance with my own. The struggle will pain you, as it pained me. But you can subdue it. Keep your mind clear. Take a Knight, if his heart is good."</p><p>Her voice was weakening, becoming raspier, and her grip loosened. Edea's chest heaved with anguish.</p><p>"Oh, my dear child. If only I could have taken your burden. I wish I could take it now."</p><p>At Rinoa's frown, she shook her head in resignation. "No, young one. I cannot. The risk is far too great. If our powers were to be compounded threefold in one body... No. I could become a witch that burns the world. We must keep the powers divided, for the sake of all life on this earth. You are barely past girlhood, and deathly afraid, and I am truly sorry. But it must be done."</p><p>"What if it happens to me? If <em>I</em> burn the world?" Rinoa stared at them both wide-eyed, the magnitude of what lay ahead starting to dawn upon on her.</p><p>Quistis' dry lips cracked into a small smile of reassurance. "You will not, little thief. I will be with you. I will not let you fall to Adel." She brought Rinoa's hand to her mouth, and kissed it.</p><p>When Rinoa's hand dropped away, Quistis turned her face up to Edea, eyes shining in adoration.</p><p>"You were the only one I have ever called mother. I was blessed to do so."</p><p>She touched the back of her fingers to Edea's tear-stained cheek, then she exhaled, and the pale blue mist of her magic floated out into the air together with her last breath. Sparks of red fizzled within the cloud, stifled, but undeniable.</p><p>Rinoa felt a strangled cry leave her own mouth as Quistis' form shimmered and dissipated, her clothing crumpling in Edea's arms. From where Quistis had lain, a bright blue flare streamed up into the sky, carving out a pillar of brilliant white light in its wake.</p><p>"Her body, it-"</p><p>Edea let Quistis' blood-soaked, empty clothes fall from her hands, and looked heavenwards, following the soaring flare.</p><p>"We do not leave behind flesh as others do," she said. "This is what we become."</p><p>The brightness stung Rinoa's eyes. She could see, now, that the light was not a creation of Quistis' magic. The light came from somewhere else; it filled the space left behind, the path cleaved by the magic as it cut through the sky.</p><p>"What... what is it?"</p><p>"The death of a Sorceress leaves a scar in the world. It will remain for several days, burning bright as the fabric of the world heals from the tear."</p><p>Rinoa was filled with an overpowering urge to touch the rift in the sky that had been torn open by the magic, but she stayed her hands. If that light was what lay underneath, or beyond, the bounds of the world, then she would know it one day soon enough. She would return to it, become it, as Quistis had.</p><p>"In time, this light will be seen by those in the North, and to the East," Edea said. "It is brighter than any star. I am known to them. They will assume it is I that has died, and they will come here to find the one who has Succeeded me."</p><p>"To do what?"</p><p>"Capture you, perhaps. Try to claim you for their own. A new Sorceress is an object of fear and desire. They will be afraid that you may become a tyrant. Esthar shall not wish to face another Adel. We need not doubt that Lord Laguna will send his army here. And the Northern clans on this side of the ocean will leap at the chance to gain a Sorceress on their side. You will have choices to make."</p><p>"I will not choose." Rinoa wrestled her gaze from the pillar of light to meet Edea's face. "I won't join anyone's side. I will live as you do."</p><p>Edea studied her without emotion, and after a while, nodded. "That is the best way for the world. But you must face them, first."</p><p>Rinoa watched as the blue flare, a body of red now visible at its core, reached its highest point in the sky, then began to drop, the pillar of blazing light still burned into the sky in its wake. The magic had separated from the pillar now, and it was hurtling back to the ground, towards the two women still kneeling on the flagstones. Rinoa looked on, transfixed. She was gripped by a sense that the magic was searching, rooting for her, like a newborn infant placed on its mother's breast.</p><p>Edea stood and stepped back, placing a distance between herself and the dancing lights. <em>Proximity, </em>thought Rinoa faintly. <em>She is ensuring that I will be the one. </em>Somewhere inside she was screaming at herself to run, panicking, protesting her lack of readiness. But those voices were muted. She was pulled by a wave of fascination, curiosity, sheer magnetism to the lights that were rushing down to claim her.</p><p>"It comes, my child. I am sorry."</p><p>Edea's voice was dim, so far away. Rinoa reached out, and-</p><hr/><p>When it came, it tore her into a thousand pieces.</p><p><em>    Her? </em>Who was <em>her?</em></p><p>        All she knew now was blood, and ice.</p><p>            Blood red, and ice blue</p><p>                and pain, always pain</p><p>                    pain like none other</p><p>                        blood red, and ice blue</p><p>                            power, and restraint</p><p>                                and pain, always</p><p>                                    wrapped in death</p><p>                                        and inside, herself</p><p>                                            her... self...</p><p>                                                ...who?</p><p><em>                                                        Who</em>?</p><hr/><p>Edea pulled the bucket from the well, and plunged a cotton cloth into the cool well-water.</p><p>The girl had been convulsing for five hours, since sunrise. Better, Edea thought, than the previous day. The shaking was less violent, the fever broken at last. She had even had moments of consciousness.</p><p>Not that she could speak yet, poor wretched child. She could only stare at Edea as she stroked her hair, pressing the damp cloth against her forehead.</p><p>"You are safe here, child."</p><p>She must have said it a hundred times in the days that has passed since the Succession. The girl never seemed to hear Edea's words. She was locked inside, within a prism of pain and terror that Edea could not enter.</p><p>Edea had carried the girl, leaden and unconscious, inside her house and laid her on a bed that had been Quistis', long, long in the past. She had gently stripped the bloodied canvas away from the girl's clammy skin. Her clothing, tattered and filthy, was unsalvageable. The Esthari hunting cloak she wore was in much better condition; Edea had folded it carefully and put it aside for safekeeping. She had soaked a towel in hot water and wiped away the dirt and blood from the girl's face, legs and arms, then carefully dressed her in one of Edea's own gowns, soft, heavyweight black cotton that reached down to the girl's ankles.</p><p>By the second day, when she held water to the girl's mouth, she sipped. Not a lot, but enough to keep her body from shutting down with dehydration. She could not chew food in her state, and it fell from her lips when Edea tried to spoon it in. Instead, Edea gave her long-steeped tea thickened with sugar and a pinch of salt, and the girl drank it down.</p><p>On the fifth day, she pulled the cup away to find the girl looking at her, eyes almost focused, her brows twisted in confusion.</p><p>"Mother?"</p><p>"No, child. I am Edea. You are safe here."</p><p>The girl's whole face crumpled, and she covered her eyes with her fingers, sobs rattling through her body.</p><p>"Mother is dead, she is dead, <em>dead, </em>she was always dead," she whimpered, then tore her hands away, her stare almost accusatory. "How could she leave me?"</p><p>"I am sorry." Edea stroked the girl's fingers, wondering how young the girl had been when her mother had died. Judging from the childlike voice she had regressed to, it must have been long in the past. "I promise that you are safe here."</p><p>"Safe..." the girl echoed, uncomprehending.</p><p>"You must fight to reclaim yourself."</p><p>"No." The girl shook her head forcefully, the whites of her eyes exposed with terror. "They are too strong."</p><p><em>They. </em>The single word confirmed Edea's fear. She had seen for herself the traces of red weaving through Quistis' ice-blue powers, but still, she had hoped that the battle would not be passed onto the Successor. Should Adel win, she would seek Edea's powers, too. And then... A threefold witch. Edea felt a chill creep down her spine.</p><p>"You must fight," she repeated, as the girl slipped back into unconsciousness.</p><hr/><p>Night followed day, and day followed night. The pillar slowly faded, and the sky reshaped, growing anew into the rift, edging out the otherworldly light.</p><p>Edea stood at the window, watching. The great white sails of the warship billowed in the wind, the crew shouting and heaving at the rigging as they prepared to make land. Fifty of them; more, maybe. There was a woman at the prow, roaring out orders, her silver-white hair catching the dazzling sun. Edea walked to the far window, on the other side of the room. There it was, the smaller, sleeker vessel, still an hour or two from shore. It was close enough now for Edea to make out its one single sail, a wide square sheet stretching from the top of the mast to the deck.</p><p>The warship slid to a halt against the sand, and its crew began to scramble down the ropes onto the beach. With the other ship still at sea, the race to reach the prize had been won.</p><p>Edea moved to the girl's bedside, and laid a hand on her back. It rose and fell in the rhythms of sleep. She pushed gently, and let a small golden spark of her own magic loose, jolting the girl into wakefulness.</p><p>The girl murmured senselessly, and Edea nudged her again.</p><p>"They are here."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter XI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter XI</strong>
</p>
<p>"The coast's in sight, m'lord. Care to take a look?"</p>
<p>Without answering, Squall took the brass spyglass from Zell's hands and placed it to his own eye. Land, yes. A bluff of jagged gray rocks, with a building nestled among them. The old Cape lighthouse, marked with a long dash on his father's nautical chart. But Squall was searching for something else: a pillar of light in the sky. He blinked and adjusted the lens. There, at the steps to the house that stood perched on the rocks. A cleft in the air that stretched up to the heavens.</p>
<p>He handed the spyglass back to Zell and turned his back on the heaving sea. Zell, as the son of a Balamb fisherman, was as nimble as a pine marten on the ship's rigging, and so playfully at ease in the water that Squall wondered if he had been born at sea. The journey had been far less pleasant for Squall, whose stomach did not take well to the rock and swell of the waves. Food stubbornly refused to settle, and he could summon no appetite to force it down. As a result, he had barely eaten since setting forth from the Esthar days before. After Rinoa and the witch of the North had vanished before his eyes, he had ridden his men back to the castle half-frozen, exhausted to the bone and furious at his failure, only to be told that a witch's Deathscar had appeared in the skies to the southwest.</p>
<p>"<em>The location appears to match the home of the Centran witch," Kiros said, his neck craned over the dog-eared atlas of the West from Laguna's library. "We should assume that the light was caused by her passing. I have heard that her age is greatly advanced. Even a Sorceress may reach the end of her life naturally."</em></p>
<p>If she is one of the fortunate ones<em>, signed Ward with his hands, directing a glance at Kiros that Squall took to be an unsaid reference to Adel, and her fate.</em></p>
<p>"<em>The Northern witch vanished, and a day later a scar of death is seen. It cannot be coincidence," Squall argued. "We do not know their ways. She could have traveled there in an instant, taking Rinoa with her."</em></p>
<p>"<em>You are anxious to find her, no doubt. But Squall, you must understand that Rinoa may no longer be alive."</em></p>
<p>"<em>I have considered that. I will only accept the evidence of my eyes. Grant me a ship, and a crew. Let me find the truth of it."</em></p>
<p>"<em>Your father-"</em></p>
<p>"<em>If he refuses, I will commandeer a fishing boat from the docks and sail there myself."</em></p>
<p>It had been a foolish threat—Squall was no sailor, as he was now painfully aware—but Laguna had acquiesced. And so Squall's stubbornness had carried him this far, from the wastes of the North to the distant South in a matter of weeks. His body had been protesting all the while, against the bitter cold, the hunger, the nausea of the swaying ship, but his mind brushed it all away with only one word: <em>Rinoa.</em> She had reached out for him, crying his name. She needed him. And he would not leave a stone unturned until he found her.</p>
<p>Now, at last, he was sure he was close. The pillar of light was weak in daylight now, having faded each day and night they sailed, but it was there. The calculations of Esthar's chief astronomer, Odine, had proved correct; this was the place, and no mistake. Squall had barely listened to the explanation Odine provided, unasked, with so much enthusiasm.</p>
<p>
  <em>It is the method of triangles, my young lord. We observe the light from two different locations, using the distance between them to make our calculations. The curvature of the earth complicates the matter, however. To account for that, we must...</em>
</p>
<p>No, he could not remember any further than that. Squall harbored an instinctive dislike of Odine, and made a point of avoiding the man as far as possible. Still, he had shown himself to be useful on this occasion. The Deathscar lay ahead, and the question of whether it led to Rinoa was soon to be answered.</p>
<p>"M'lord." Zell had the spyglass again, pressing it into Squall's hands. "Seems we're not the first."</p>
<p>They had rounded the Cape now, and the shore on the far side of the lighthouse had come into sight. A huge Dolletian frigate was moored at the northern shore, the distant dots of assembled troops forming a neat rectangle on the beach. They numbered double the men Squall had brought, at least, and the frigate dwarfed the Esthari vessel, built only for traversing coastal waters. They had clung to the Eastern continent's southern tip the entire way; no Esthari craft could withstand the open seas as the beast of a Dolletian ship could.</p>
<p>Zell stood at his side, hands on hips, squinting at the frigate. "Dolletians are all mouth and no breeches, m'lord," he confided. "They might outnumber us, but they'd never outwit us, not in a month of Sundays."</p>
<p>Squall grunted in response, and made his way to his quarters to sharpen his blade.</p>
<hr/>
<p>He steadied himself as his boots hit the wet sand, his body finding immense relief at a ground that did not sway. Six of Squall's crew had disembarked ahead of him, hauling on ropes to pull the ship up onto the beach. Squall walked between the ropes, his eyes on the mass of Dolletian soldiers gathered on the far side of the shore.</p>
<p>"Shall I lead the rest of the men out, m'lord?" Zell called from the deck.</p>
<p>Squall nodded. "Keep them by the ship."</p>
<p>He turned his head from the Dolletians, and surveyed the cliffside. The stone house he had seen from the sea—the witch's house, if Kiros was right—was now hidden from view by the rocks. He could make out the Deathscar streaming upwards from the top of a flight of stone steps, a seam in the sky, like a piece of cloth that had been cut and restitched.</p>
<p>"Zell," he called, and Zell's head appeared over the taffrail. Squall motioned to him, and Zell vaulted from the deck, his feet plopping neatly into the sand next to where Squall stood.</p>
<p>"I will cross the beach to speak with them. Stay here."</p>
<p>"Until you give the signal to charge?"</p>
<p>"No. Until I return. We did not come here to declare war on Dollet."</p>
<p>He nodded to Zell to reinforce his point, then strode across the sands.</p>
<p>Squall climbed over the spit of land that held the lighthouse and rounded the curve of the coast onto the northern shore, bringing the scene taking place on the beach into full sight. His chest constricted the moment he saw Rinoa, dressed in a black gown with her hair loose, swaying from side to side. Wild-eyed, and deathly pale. An older woman clothed in an identical gown was standing at her side, speaking to the tall, blond, broad-shouldered man whose back was turned to Squall.</p>
<p>The blond man stepped forward, holding out a hand to Rinoa. A beast-like shriek rang out across the sands, and a sky-blue flame lit her skin. She was ablaze with it, and Squall's legs were pounding over the beach to reach her, to help her, surely she would die-</p>
<p>He stopped, startled. The blue fire had flickered out, and Rinoa's face was as pale as before, her hair unburned. He thought for a moment—a split-second that clutched at his heart and squeezed it—that she was looking straight at him. Her eyes closed, and she slid to the sand, her body folding under her like a piece of fallen silk.</p>
<p>The blond man hunched over Rinoa. He was watched by two commanders, standing several paces away, at the front of the assembled Dolletian troops. Squall made a quick assessment of the pair. One was a woman with cropped silver hair, one eye covered by a frayed black eyepatch, the other burning bright with a fierce intelligence. She wore a blue-gray leather breastplate and cloak. Squall could not see any evidence of a weapon on her body. The other commander was a huge, hulking man, his hands wrapped around a battle-staff that was even longer than he was tall. A Centran, Squall supposed; the man had the same dark skin as Kiros, though he shared little of the latter's slender grace. He was pure muscle. It may take a few Esthari swordsmen to fell him, Squall noted. The woman, meanwhile, was an unknown quality. She was slight, barely taller than Rinoa, but the alertness of her pose was suggestive of a wildcat ready to spring into action. If it came to battle, she could the one to be wary of.</p>
<p>But it had not come to battle, not yet at least. How much could he stake on the assumption that they would not swarm upon a lone man, his sword undrawn, traversing the beach? Squall had no choice now but to put that notion to the test.</p>
<p>He renewed his pace and walked past the assembled troops, aware of their eyes following him as he passed, eyes that flicked uncertainly to their commanders, waiting for orders. Each soldier held a rifle pointed aloft, every one of them tipped with a long, fine blade attached to the barrel. A memory flitted through Squall's mind. Kiros had told him of these. A Dolletian invention. <em>Bayonets</em>. That was it. He could see fingers gripping tightly at the stocks and barrels, itching to be told to slay this interloper. But no command was forthcoming, and Squall made his way past the troops, past the commanders, and to the spot where Rinoa lay on the sand.</p>
<p>Ignoring the blond man, he knelt and spoke to the older woman, whose arms were laid protectively around Rinoa's shoulders.</p>
<p>"What has happened to Rinoa?"</p>
<p>"She has Succeeded another's powers. She is in pain."</p>
<p>She stroked Rinoa's hair away from her face, and the tenderness of her touch did not escape Squall's notice. A coil of the tension in his chest loosened. It was clear that the witch of the South was no threat to Rinoa; then she was not his enemy, either.</p>
<p>"Will she recover?" he asked.</p>
<p>"I cannot say. Her burden is great."</p>
<p>A hand pulled roughly at the back of his robes, tugging him upwards.</p>
<p>"You. Eastern monkey. Are you the reason she will not come with me?" demanded the blond man.</p>
<p>Squall reluctantly turned around. "Are you addressing me?"</p>
<p>The blond man had a half-hand of height over Squall, and a thickness to his neck that suggested a good deal more muscle than Squall's own lean frame. His short hair was a brassier gold than Zell's, and his face was tanned and weathered, but young—perhaps as young as Squall. The man's pale eyes narrowed as soon as they settled upon the lion motif on Squall's robes.</p>
<p>"You're the Lord's boy, aren't you?" He took a step back, his frame all the more imposing from a distance.</p>
<p>"I am no boy," Squall replied. The bile in the man's voice had sent his fingers to rest on the hilt of his sword.</p>
<p>"Answer the question. Are you heir to the East, or not?"</p>
<p>"That, I am."</p>
<p>"Then you <em>are</em> the reason. And you will suffer for it." He drew the great broadsword from the sheath on his back, and waved it Squall's direction using only one hand. "Draw your blade, boy. Or is that puny spike of yours just for show?"</p>
<p>Squall knew this type of man well enough. He had arrested enough of them in the lower town of Esthar. The sneering arrogance, the hair-trigger temper. Perhaps vainglorious fools were simply the same the whole world over. He cast a critical eye over this new adversary. Taller and heavier than Squall, yes, maybe even stronger. But his gold-edged cloak was made for vanity, not battle, and a sword of such ridiculous weight would be slow and cumbersome against Esthari steel. Squall was quite sure he could run rings around this man. He drew himself up to his full height, and bowed his head in a mockery of politeness.</p>
<p>"Before you strike, perhaps you might tell me what your grievance is?"</p>
<p>The man snarled, jabbing his sword for effect. "Do not think you Easterners can hide your barbaric ways under a pretense of manners! After Lady Rinoa went missing, we searched for her, far and wide. We received word that she was stolen by Esthar, held captive, and raped by the Lord's son." He slashed his broadsword through the space between them, a diagonal line from shoulder to knee. "You took her as yours. You had no right. She was promised to me. She is <em>mine.</em>"</p>
<p>So this oafish brute is Almasy, Squall realized. He understood now why Rinoa had so loathed the suggestion of returning to the West.</p>
<p>"What a thoroughly bizarre retelling of the facts," he said, and did not bother to hide his disdain.</p>
<p>"Oh? Then what do you claim happened?"</p>
<p>"Wait until she awakes, then ask her yourself. I have no desire to explain myself to you." Squall made to turn away, to tend to Rinoa, but Almasy's sword flashed in front of him a second time.</p>
<p>"You disgust me. The thought of your grubby Eastern hands on the body of my woman-"</p>
<p>Squall knew that he was rapidly losing patience with this fool. "You truly do have a vivid imagination. Does it excite you to picture me like that? I, for one, would prefer not to be the leading man in your fantasies."</p>
<p>Almasy's mouth tautened into a thin line. "You will regret mocking me."</p>
<p>"I doubt it," Squall said carelessly. <em>How tiresome he is, </em>he thought<em>. No wonder she fled from him.</em></p>
<p>Almasy's sword came swinging before him, so fast that he barely jumped back in time. He looked down to see that the point of the blade had nicked the cloth of his robes, cutting a strip free. Half an inch closer, and it would have torn into Squall's flesh.</p>
<p>Squall gritted his teeth. The speed of Almasy's jab had taken him by surprise. He would not make that mistake again. He slid Lion Heart from its scabbard and held it out in front. Almasy raised an eyebrow, his insinuation obvious. The two blades were incomparable in size. The broadsword was six or more times the width of an Esthari blade, and twice as long. But, Squall told himself with certainty, it could never be as sharp.</p>
<p>He slashed upward, and found that Almasy's blade met his with ease. He pushed hard, but the broadsword would not give. Squall let his blade fall, and slashed again, to be parried a second time.</p>
<p>Almasy let loose a laugh, and began to circle Squall as he fought back. Squall was locked into the defensive role, unable to find an opening in Almasy's assault to snatch the upper hand. He had misjudged his advantage, and badly. Almasy, in spite of all his bulk and adornments, was fast, lithe, and highly skilled. Whether more skilled than Squall, he could not say, but at the least, they were evenly matched.</p>
<p>Without warning, Almasy darted to the left, and Squall followed, realizing all too late that it was a feint. As he fought to regain his stance, the broadsword's tip swept in a clean arc that caught on his face, slicing a stinging line of pain across his brow, ending at the side of his nose. Almasy stood back, his free hand resting on his hip, his expression one of deep satisfaction.</p>
<p>Squall touched his finger to his forehead, and saw the dark red smear on the black hide. He could feel it dripping down his face, seeping over his eyebrows.</p>
<p>He clenched his hand into a fist, and wiped the blood away, the rough leather of the gloves harsh against the open wound. He looked up at the gloating Almasy in disgust.</p>
<p>"Is this how swordsmen fight in the West? With deceit and trickery?"</p>
<p>"We fight to win. Something the East has yet to learn. But <em>you</em> should already know, boy, with a devious, dirty-fighting Galbadian knave for a father."</p>
<p>Almasy swept his arm back, inviting his commanders and troops to listen. "Care to regale us with the tale of how the lowly Laguna Loire felled the witch of the East? We're all ears."</p>
<p>The silver-haired woman's thin lips had curled into a contemptuous smile, and the hulking Centran gave a belly laugh that rippled out across the beach, spreading chuckles and snickers among the Dolletian troops.</p>
<p>Squall found himself breaking his own foremost rule. He was losing his temper.</p>
<p>He had met plenty of people he disliked, despised even. But never before had he viscerally hated anyone on sight as he did this man. This gold-bedecked, supercilious brute, with his uncanny ability to pinpoint another's source of shame and exploit it ruthlessly, his smirking face, his proprietary manner towards Rinoa, every last facet of him.</p>
<p>The rage that pumped through his body now was not Squall's usual cold, controlled anger: it was a hot, urgent desire to spill this man's blood. He let it carry his arms as he slashed and parried, hurling his hatred at Almasy's body.</p>
<p>It was Almasy who was on the defensive this time, moving and twisting to counter Squall's strikes. With streaks of blood thickening across his vision, Squall could not see how it happened, but Lion Heart's edge somehow made contact. It cut across Almasy's brow, in an arc of angry red that mirrored the fresh wound on Squall's own face. Droplets trickled down Almasy's cheeks. Now they were both branded alike; marked as equals.</p>
<p>Almasy dragged his sleeve against his forehead, the blood bright against the white of his cloak. Where Squall had expected to see fury, there was only a grim smile, and eyes that were hungry with anticipation. Squall knew without a doubt that this was now a fight to the death. He gripped Lion Heart's hilt, and readied himself for the next strike.</p>
<p>But it did not come. Almasy's open-mouthed gawp was directed behind Squall, and he let his sword arm fall to his side. Squall turned his head to see Rinoa, awake and standing, staggering towards them with an odd swaying motion. She stopped mid-lurch, and a hazy red mist gathered around her form. The vibrancy of the red grew stronger, until it was glowing, crackling with unrestrained energy.</p>
<p>Her irises, too, were blood-red now. The warm brown eyes that Squall had so longed to see all these months were gone, stolen away. He cursed under his breath. What had become of her? Had sorcery warped her heart so quickly?</p>
<p>The red aura around Rinoa faded to a dim glow as soon as her eyes locked with Squall's, and her irises softened to dark brown once more. He saw within them contortions of pain, confusion, and the tiniest, distant spark of recognition.</p>
<p><em>Yes, </em>Squall intoned silently as he returned her gaze. <em>It's me, Rinoa. Hold fast. Find your way out.</em></p>
<p>Almasy strode forward, his hand outstretched to touch her. "Lady Rinoa-"</p>
<p>A roar hit Squall's ears, the deep roar of a furious woman, a voice that could not have been Rinoa's. His vision was filled with red, a world of scarlet. Squall's breath was slammed from his body as he was knocked to the sand, his blade thrown across the beach, clattering against a faraway rock.</p>
<p>He had no idea how long he lay there, or whether he had lost consciousness. When the colors of the beach returned, chasing the veil of red away, he found himself able to lift his head. Rinoa was limp on the sand, collapsed once more, with the Southern witch cradling her shoulders. Squall pulled himself to his feet, and saw that the beach was empty. Almasy, his commanders, the soldiers, even the great frigate at the water's edge: they had all vanished.</p>
<p>Squall whirled around to face the southern shore, to find that there was no trace, either, of the Esthari vessel. He fought a sudden dryness in the roof of his mouth as his eyes fixed on the distant patch of sand where Zell had stood, awaiting Squall's return. He stumbled backwards, sinking heavily to his knees beside Rinoa and the witch.</p>
<p>"She... she killed them all?" His voice emerged as a hoarse whisper.</p>
<p>The witch looked at him impassively. "No."</p>
<p>"Then what befell them?"</p>
<p>"She sent them away from this land." The witch's eyes became unfocused, and a gold sheen obscured her pupils. She blinked, and the gold cleared away. "Your army is in Southern Shalmal, standing on white sands, with your vessel at their rear. They are unharmed."</p>
<p>"How can you know that?"</p>
<p>"I am blessed with the Farsight. It is part of my gift." Her eyes glowed golden a second time. "Count Almasy and his troops are in the Northern lands now. Rinoa has returned them to Dollet. Such power is far beyond my command. She has been struggling to contain it. I believe she is losing."</p>
<p>He moved to kneel over Rinoa, to look upon her properly at last. She was paler and thinner than she had been in Esthar, almost gaunt. The angles of her cheekbones gave an strange tightness to her sleeping face. Her hair, unbound and longer than before, was soft and cleanly washed; either she had been awake enough to wash, or this woman had tended to her.</p>
<p>Squall wiped his brow in an effort to stem the steady trickle of blood into his eyes from the still-fresh, stinging cut above. A drop fell onto Rinoa's cheek, forming a round red stain on her pallid skin, and he quickly wiped it away with a muttered apology.</p>
<p>"Can you save her?" he asked the witch.</p>
<p>"There is little I can do. But you, maybe."</p>
<p>"Me?"</p>
<p>"I know nothing of what has passed between you. But she kept you here; you alone. She chose to do so for a reason. And your manner tells me that you care for her."</p>
<p>Something about the witch's solemn face impelled Squall to answer with the truth, words he had admitted to no other.</p>
<p>"I do."</p>
<p>"Then you may be able to bring balance and calm to her mind."</p>
<p>"How?"</p>
<p>"If you pledge yourself to her. As a Sorceress' Knight."</p>
<p>Rinoa stirred, then gave a violent shudder that rocked her body against the Southern witch's arms. The witch tightened her hold in an attempt to quell the spasm. Squall fought the urge to push her away, to take Rinoa in his own arms, to hold her close until her shaking subsided.</p>
<p>"Tell me how to do it," he said with force.</p>
<p>"Take her hand, and give yourself to her."</p>
<p>Squall frowned impatiently. "Give myse-"</p>
<p>"You will know. You will feel it."</p>
<p><em>Very well, </em>he thought. He removed his gloves and laid them on the sand, and reached out his fingertips to stroke the sleeping girl's face. Her skin was burning with heat that was more than that of the baking sun overhead, more than any fever. The unnatural heat of magic in turmoil, he realized.</p>
<p>"Rinoa. Will you accept me?" he said.</p>
<p>"She will not hear you," said the witch.</p>
<p>"But it must be her choice," Squall replied. He tapped Rinoa's cheek, his fingers gentle, and her eyes fluttered weakly open. "Will you accept me?" he asked once more.</p>
<p>There was fear and unspeakable pain written in her face, and he wondered how to comfort her, but he kept his gaze firm. She moved her head in the smallest of nods, and closed her eyes again.</p>
<p>He wrapped his fingers around hers, and it was as the other Sorceress had said: he knew exactly what to do. He offered himself to Rinoa without words, and felt her wavering, afraid, then he squeezed her hand and pledged that she would be safe. That he would protect her.</p>
<p>And then she flooded his senses, and he was no longer one man living one life.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter XII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter XII</strong>
</p>
<p>The seabirds woke her with their distant cries, somewhere far away from the shore. It must be dawn, she supposed. Her skin was cool now. For days—or was it weeks?—her flesh had been burning, stinging, crawling with hot sparks that burrowed under the surface. She ran her fingertips along the length of one arm. There was nothing, no fire, no pain.</p>
<p>The conflict, the raging storm, had been quelled, and all she felt was deep peace. She searched inside for the traces of red, and of blue; the feelings that were the remnants of Adel and Quistis, and found that they were not gone, but somehow separated from her. Their battle could no longer harm her. Something else was there, a warm, safe barrier between the part that was Rinoa and the chaos within, and it felt like... him.</p>
<p>Squall.</p>
<p>He was there, right next to her. She knew before she even opened her eyes. He was sleeping on the same bed, facing away from her, the sheets pulled up around his shoulders.</p>
<p>Rinoa maneuvered her body off the bed, as carefully as she could in order to avoid making the wooden slats creak. She was successful. The beds in Edea's house were old, but strong and sturdy, and the hard mattress had felt better than the finest Dolletian feather bed to Rinoa after her months of sleeping on furs laid across frozen earth in Trabia. The room was simple, with few adornments, and a small handbasin for washing. She went to it and drank, deeply and silently, cupping the running water in her hands. Rinoa thought she had seen the room before, during the glimpses of waking life she had seen under Edea's care. The gray stone walls and the plain calico curtains were somehow imprinted on her mind, though she could not locate a conscious memory of being in this room. Those days were a dim blur now, another soul's suffering. She had been freed.</p>
<p>Her feet were bare against the smooth floor tiles, with the unfamiliar black gown skimming her ankles. Rinoa wondered if there was a mirror to be had somewhere nearby. This dress clung to her flesh in ways that would have made her blush in front of Squall, if they had still been... separate. What they were now, she could not put into words, but she knew that the concept of shame or embarrassment in front of him had lost all meaning. They were joined, fused together in a way that ran deeper than any lovers' promise.</p>
<p>She crossed to the door of the bedroom, and twisted its handle, a heavy brass ring. Outside, on the floor of the hallway, was a wooden tray laid with food. She knelt down to examine a basket filled with quarter-cut pieces of flatbread, drizzled with the oil of olives, and a bowl covered with cotton gauze. Rinoa lifted the gauze to reveal sliced fresh fruit underneath, colorful Southern varieties she did not know by name. Her mouth had begun to water at the sight, and she wondered just how long ago her last meal had been.</p>
<p>She picked up the folded note that had been slipped under the bread basket, and opened it.</p>
<p>
  <em>The first few days of the Bond are sacred. I will not interfere. Seek me only when you are ready. I will leave food for you each morning. -Edea</em>
</p>
<p>Rinoa looked at it for a few moments, then took the tray in both hands, pushed the door open again with her knee and returned to the bedroom.</p>
<p>Squall was sitting upright in the bed, awake and watching her entrance with a strange half-smile on his face. Strange, she realized, only because she had never seen him in a state of relaxation before.</p>
<p>Her eyes traveled across a line of red, the newly-closed scar across his forehead, and she thought to ask him what had happened, but the idea drifted away as she looked at him.</p>
<p>With his long hair untied and brushing the tops of his shoulders, he was dressed in a loose, white shirt and patched hemp breeches, clearly the clothes of a much stouter man. How odd it was, Rinoa thought, to see him—the heir to Esthar—dressed as a Westerner. She glanced down at her own attire, remembering that the gown was one of Edea's. It seemed likely that Squall's clothing was a hand-me-down of whoever had once lived in this house with Edea; a husband, perhaps a fellow Knight.</p>
<p>She gasped as she remembered what she had done, and the reason why Squall was here alone.</p>
<p>"Your troops. I—"</p>
<p>"Edea told me you returned them to the Shalmal Peninsula. They will reach us in three, four days, perhaps."</p>
<p>"Are you not angry?" she asked, wondering at the softness in his voice.</p>
<p>"I should be. Yet I find that I am not. You seem to have vanished all other thoughts from my mind. I understand now why Sorceresses are so feared. I see only you."</p>
<p>He was smiling at her. He had never smiled in Esthar, and here he was, smiling with a perfect tenderness that cradled her heart, and she knew he was hers.</p>
<p>Rinoa set the tray down onto the stone floor and walked to the side of the bed, where she sat at arm's length from him, returning his smile. The mixture of second-hand feelings inside her that came, somehow, from him resonated with shared emotion, and her chest flooded with a warm sweetness.</p>
<p>"Then we are the same," she said. "Because I see only you."</p>
<p>She moved her face closer, and offered him her lips, and when he claimed them with more ardor than she could have hoped for, she learned what it was to become lost in a man's touch. To know pleasure as his hands shed the gown from her body, and to feel his heat pressed hard against her. His kisses and caresses stoked Rinoa's passion, giving her the courage to touch and taste him in return, and when the moment came that the old maids of Galbadia had always taught her to fear and dread, her eagerness and intoxication drowned out the pain, and she welcomed him. She clutched at his shoulders and drove him in deeper, and he gasped ragged breaths into her neck until she could stand it no more, letting her wave come to a crest and surge against him. He followed, and she was filled with him; his warmth, his love, his everything.</p>
<p>"I did not know it could be like that," she whispered afterwards, her sweat-soaked face laid against his chest.</p>
<p>"Nor did I," he murmured, kissing her fingers, and they drifted into a sleep that was shared, each breath taken together.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The day segued into night and morning, and then into another night, and they spent it all entwined. She did not count how many times they made love. How many times she cried out his name, nor how many times he juddered into her in his release, his sweat soaking into her skin. They moved as one, and thought as one, and she wondered how she had lived before knowing how it felt to be in union with her Knight.</p>
<p>On the third day, she lay curled up against him, Squall's touch tracing lazy circles on her shoulder as their breathing slowed from the morning's passion.</p>
<p>"There is something I have wondered," he said.</p>
<p>"What might that be?"</p>
<p>"Why anyone in their right mind would seek a new life in Trabia. Tell me, Rinoa. Why in all the heavens did you ride North?"</p>
<p>She thought about inventing some ridiculous tale, but knew it was meaningless to lie to him.</p>
<p>"Because you told me to ride South."</p>
<p>She felt his stunned silence through their shared connection, even before she saw it on his face. He seemed to be about to speak, then closed his eyes and nestled his head in the curve of her neck. It was a while before Rinoa realized the cause of his shuddering: he was laughing.</p>
<p>"Is it so funny?" she asked, a hesitant hand placed behind the back of his head.</p>
<p>Squall pulled away and unleashed a fierce glare that she would have taken to be genuine, had his shoulders not been shaking with the residue of laughter.</p>
<p>"Not in the slightest. You're a stubborn halfwit, and I'm a damned fool for losing my heart to you."</p>
<p>She touched her fingertips to his bare chest, searching for his heartbeat. There it was: the steady rhythm of his blood and his life.</p>
<p>"But you have not lost it." She tapped lightly against his skin, matching the rhythm. "And I will not take it from you. Let me promise that, at least, Squall."</p>
<p>"You should not make a promise you have already broken."</p>
<p>He pushed her hand away, and then he was kissing her again, with a heat that was unexpected for a man whose passion was so recently spent. Rinoa realized with a dawning delight that his actions now were for her pleasure alone, as his own was depleted. She responded by guiding his fingers to places that were so newly discovered, even to herself, and let him bring her to the peak of another wave, one that rocked her body to the tips of her toes.</p>
<p>"Halfwit, was it?" she murmured, when the power of speech returned to her. "I should smite you with holy light for such insolence."</p>
<p>"No doubt my Lady Sorceress knows best," he said, with a pinch to her flesh that teased as much as it tingled. "I am sure you could make a man say North was South, and South was North, and make him believe it, too. But perhaps you might listen to your Knight next time."</p>
<p><em>Perhaps, </em>Rinoa thought. <em>But my choices will be my own.</em></p>
<p>Later, after they had eaten the bread left by Edea that morning, Squall stretched his arms over his shoulders and began to pull on the long white shirt.</p>
<p>"Time has passed enough, I think, for us to emerge from our nest," he said as he fastened the buttons.</p>
<p>"I suppose that we should," she said, with reluctant agreement. She had avoided thinking about how long they could stay cocooned in each other's arms, and what might await them afterwards.</p>
<p>Squall stepped into the hemp breeches, attempting to fit them to his lithe form by tightening the belt as far as it would go.</p>
<p>"I will go to talk with Edea. I wish to make use of her Farsight." He kissed Rinoa on the lips and left the room, his footsteps fading into another part of the house.</p>
<p>She washed at the handbasin and dressed herself in the black gown, and made her own foray into the hallway. There was a door to the outside at the far end, and she slipped through it, eager to feel the sea air on her face again.</p>
<p>This door, however, did not lead to the shore. It opened on the inland side of the house, looking out onto the distant gray hills, with a meadow of colorful wildflowers dancing in the bright sunlight. Rinoa sighed with pleasure and gazed out at the sight, inhaling the delicate fragrances that were carried to her on the midmorning breeze.</p>
<p>She thought of Quistis, in her girlhood. In her mind's eye, Rinoa could see a golden-haired child running through the flowers, touching her hands to the petals, her fingers coated with pollen. A little girl playing in the meadow while her mother tended to the wheatfield, safe from all harm at this far-flung tip of the world.</p>
<p>Could it be a memory? Rinoa wondered. Her sense of Quistis' presence, so strong in the days after the Succession, had been locked away since the Bonding with Squall. But the picture was so vivid, the nostalgia so overpowering, that she thought it might have come from Quistis herself.</p>
<p><em>Quistis? </em>she asked. She was met with only silence within.</p>
<p>The deep well of magic was there, though. She had known that, felt it keenly since awakening, but blinded to anything but Squall's touch, she had left it alone. <em>Not yet, </em>she had thought. But now... With Squall out of sight, her mind was clear, and she knew exactly what to do. She pushed at that <em>something </em>that could not be named, and a pale blue glow spread painlessly from her hand, soft droplets of light. Quistis' gift. And now it was hers.</p>
<p>Rinoa watched the light play and wind itself into shapes, like some curious sea creature. If she wanted, it could take on the form of fire, ice, lightning. She could heal wounds, she could inflict pain. If she wanted to...</p>
<p>She felt his approach before she heard the door open, and she let the magic die away before Squall's footsteps sounded against the stone walkway. No, she did not want to explore this in his presence. Besides, as soon as he was near, the bewitching change came over her again: she saw only him, desired only him. Her magic, and her own thoughts, were secondary. The Bond was more far powerful than either of them could have imagined, she realized. But that moment of awareness was lost in the moment that his lips brushed against her neck.</p>
<p>Squall slid his arms around her waist, and she leaned back into his warmth. How strange it was, she reflected, that she had never at all yearned for a man's arms around her until now. Kisses, touch, whispers of love; it all fell into place so easily, like a part of her that had been missing and was now found. She ran her fingers along the line of his jaw, rubbing at the growth of stubble that had run rampant over the past few days. It was handsome on him, Rinoa thought, even if it did make him look more like a vagabond than an Esthari warrior.</p>
<p>"Edea says that my troops will reach us soon. When the ship comes into sight, I will go down to the shore to meet them."</p>
<p>"And then?"</p>
<p>The question that had remained unsaid since her awakening, the question they had both cast so far from their minds had slipped through her lips, and she could feel his dismay at her for letting it take shape.</p>
<p>"Will you leave with them?" she asked.</p>
<p>He turned her shoulders around so that they were facing, and took both her hands in his.</p>
<p>"Come back to Esthar with me. As my wife."</p>
<p>"I... No. I will not marry." She let her hands fall from his fingers. "Squall, I have told you that."</p>
<p>He frowned deeply, and his confusion and irritation thudded inside her own chest.</p>
<p>"But you surrendered your maidenhood to me. Why would you do that if—"</p>
<p>"<em>Surrendered? </em>Was it a treasure to be taken?" Rinoa screwed up her features in distaste. "The only ones who would place value on my maidenhood are those who seek to trade me. It was nothing more than... than the absence of a particular experience. 'Maidenhood' should never be used to define a woman. Odd, wouldn't you say, that we have no word for a man's bodily virtue?"</p>
<p>The bewitchment had broken; she felt angry, insulted, her sense of pride returning to her in one fell swoop. The spell seemed to have shattered for Squall, too. His face had closed off to her, his eyes now cold and hard, and she could no longer feel the imprints of his emotions.</p>
<p>"Then this has meant nothing to you."</p>
<p>She stared at him, exasperated. "Come now, Squall. Do you truly believe that?"</p>
<p>He turned away, arms clenched across his chest. Rinoa was dumbstruck. How could his features turn to ice so quickly, if he loved her as she loved him? Unless...</p>
<p>...What had Edea told her? <em>A new Sorceress is an object of desire.</em></p>
<p>"You... you wanted to claim a Sorceress for Esthar," she said, taking shaking steps backwards. "That's why you came here, isn't it? You and your father knew how powerful your clan would be, with a Sorceress as your bride. How could I be so blind—"</p>
<p>"Is that what you think of me?"</p>
<p>"What else should I think? You never wanted me before, not until the Succession happened. When I was your captive—"</p>
<p>"Don't assume to know what I wanted," he hissed, striding close to her. "I wanted you in that forest, on the night I cut your shackles. <em>You </em>did not want me. You made that clear when we stood before my father. I would never have touched you until you desired me. I am not a man that takes women by force."</p>
<p>"Then it did not cross your mind, when Edea asked you to be my Knight? That a Sorceress would be an asset to your Lord?"</p>
<p>"Sorceresses are hated and feared in Esthar. You lived there; you must know that. If we return together, and your nature is discovered, we will face hardship upon hardship. But I would face them, all of them, to be with you. I do not care what you are. I <em>do not care.</em>"</p>
<p>He spat the words fiercely at her, and she faltered.</p>
<p>"Squall... I..."</p>
<p>"Why do I even need to say it? You <em>know</em> how I feel. You feel it in the part of you where the Bond has entangled us. You might pretend that it is not there, or close your mind to it, but I know you can feel it, just as I do."</p>
<p>She looked down at her bare feet on the soil, tiny flowers trampled underneath, and tried to still the thundering in her chest.</p>
<p>"You... Then you closed your mind to me, too," she said, in a plaintive accusation that sounded weak to her own ears. "When you said that this meant nothing. You were simply trying to wound me."</p>
<p>"Yes. I was." Squall's anger seemed to ebb, but his jaw was stubborn.</p>
<p>She lifted her hand slowly, waiting for words of rejection, and when they did not come, she placed it on his chest. It was not his heartbeat she was searching for this time, but his emotions. The Bond was still there. She closed her eyes, and tried to feel what he was feeling. It was all there, mingled with her own shock, anger, and hurt pride. Her emotions were mirrored in him. And underneath the wounded ego, those momentary distractions, was his love. Deeper and steadier than she had imagined. He had spoken the truth: Squall had loved her for a long time. He had loved her when she was a thief, a runaway noble, a prisoner.</p>
<p>"Then you know," he said softly. "And I know what is in your heart, too."</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>Rinoa leaned her forehead against his chest, afraid of the words she would say next, but compelled to say them all the same.</p>
<p>"Even so, I will not return to Esthar. I cannot do as you ask."</p>
<p>They were at an impasse. He knew it just as she did, she was sure. She raised her face to him, seeing her own resignation reflected in his eyes.</p>
<p>"I will make my own path. And I will not do so as any man's wife."</p>
<p>"Then we will part," he said simply.</p>
<p>"So we will," she replied.</p>
<p>She did not watch him leave the meadow. She knelt there, her head bent to touch the carpet of wildflowers, knowing she would not look on as he waited at the shore, nor would she watch as his ship dwindled to a dot on the horizon.</p>
<p>She would not watch, and she would not weep. She was a Sorceress.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This update comes with a bundle of apologies to anyone who was hoping the post-Bonding bliss would last for a few chapters. Other considerations are still getting in the way for these two hotheads, at least at the moment. But I hope you'll keep reading.</p>
<p>Anyway. Thanks to everyone who has been reading my fics this year. Wishing you all much, much better times to come in 2021. -colobonema</p>
<p>p.s. The "much stouter man" was, of course, Cid, who has been dead for a couple of decades in this story. (You might... not want to dwell too heavily on the fact that Squinoa embarked on their sex marathon while dressed as Cid and Edea...) I admit it was ever-so-slightly creepy how Edea kept leaving meals by the door. Let's assume she wasn't pressing a glass against the door to eavesdrop or anything.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter XIII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter XIII</strong>
</p>
<p>"He left something for you."</p>
<p>Edea gestured at the kitchen table, and turned to attend to the copper kettle hissing steam over the hearth. She had neither asked nor commented on Squall's departure, and Rinoa was grateful for that. He was gone, and there was little point in dissecting the reasons why.</p>
<p>On the table, the silver ring, the sleeping lion that Squall wore coiled around his finger, was placed on the center of a leaf of Edea's notepaper. Rinoa lifted the ring and set it aside.</p>
<p>
  <em>Rinoa,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Even when the Great Sea lies between us, I will remain your Knight.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Keep this ring, the mark of the Leonhart clan, as a sign of my loyalty. You may return it to me when we meet again.</em>
</p>
<p>She folded the note, then folded it a second time, unnecessarily. Rinoa eyed the ring with distrust, and let out an aggrieved sigh, which brought Edea's questioning gaze on her.</p>
<p>"I will not take it," she announced. "I told him I would not be his wife."</p>
<p>"I do not believe that was his intention. The Esthari do not wear wedding rings as your people do in the West."</p>
<p>Edea took a seat at the table, and her hand hovered over the ring. When she did not move, Rinoa realized she was waiting for permission, and nodded, embarrassed. Edea carefully picked the ring up and turned it around, letting it gleam with reflected light from the kitchen window.</p>
<p>"A ring like this one signifies one's clan. He has given you something important to him. Do not discard it." She held it out to Rinoa.</p>
<p>"It would not fit on any of my fingers," she protested. "What does he imagine I should do with it?"</p>
<p>"I have a spare silver chain in my dresser. Might you thread the ring on that, and wear it as a necklace?"</p>
<p>"But I could not accept—"</p>
<p>"Consider it, at the very least. A Knight's request should be given due thought." Edea placed the ring down next to Rinoa's clenched fist.</p>
<p>There was nothing to be gained from arguing with someone as impassive as Edea. Rinoa twisted her mouth in uncertain assent, and frowned at the other object on the table, a small stoppered bottle made of amber glass. She picked it up.</p>
<p>"And this. Why would he leave me this?"</p>
<p>Edea folded her hands, her expression frank. "That was I, not your Knight. I thought you might need to make use of it. Forgive me if my assumption is unwelcome."</p>
<p>"What is it?"</p>
<p>"Tincture of bitter nettle. It is called something else in Galbadia. 'Maiden's Saving Grace', I believe." Edea indicated what she thought of that name with a gently raised eyebrow.</p>
<p>Rinoa, aware of the red heat claiming her cheeks, pulled out the stopper with trembling fingers. How had she allowed the exhilaration of love to leave her mind so blank? She had not thought, not even once, about the risk of being left with his child. She tilted the bottle into her mouth until six drops of the liquid ran under her tongue, and retched as the bitterness dissolved throughout her mouth.</p>
<p>Edea took a pewter cup from the side, filled it from a jug and pressed it into Rinoa's hands.</p>
<p>"Here. Cooled starflower tea. It will take away the taste."</p>
<p>She watched as Rinoa drank the tea down. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, dear child. Shame is not a welcome visitor in this house. It never has been."</p>
<p>Rinoa swallowed the last of the sweet, honey-like drink and blinked her eyes clear. She stared into the middle distance, trying to organize her thoughts before she spoke.</p>
<p>"When he was here, I could think of nothing else. Quistis, Trabia, Adel... even my magic. All I wanted was him. Does the Bond rob us of all reason?"</p>
<p>"Such feelings might be amplified by the Bond, since his thoughts are made open to you, but it is not their source."</p>
<p>"Then what is?"</p>
<p>Edea's expression was hard to read, but Rinoa thought it might be pity.</p>
<p>"I would say, Rinoa, that you are simply describing the mind of one who has fallen in love. Do you not think so?"</p>
<p>"If I had known it would make such fools of us..." She stared at the cup, still clamped between her hands, letting the sentence trail off.</p>
<p>But she <em>had</em> known, hadn't she? She'd always known. Rinoa had grown up hearing the poems, songs and sonnets. She had learned that wars had been started for love, that blood was spilled for it each and every day. Love and lust drove men and women to madness; everyone knew that. Why should she, or Squall, be any different? Had she been so arrogant as to think herself unmovable by the most primal of urges?</p>
<p>"Then it is better that he and I are apart," she said with brisk resolution, setting the cup down with an awkward clunk.</p>
<p>"Is it?"</p>
<p>"Yes." Rinoa nodded to herself. "It <em>must</em> be."</p>
<p>Edea considered her, saying nothing, and Rinoa had the feeling—not for the first time—that Edea's gift of unusual perception was not limited to her Farsight.</p>
<p>"Very well. If that is how you feel. But do not forget the protection the Bond gives you."</p>
<p>"Protection?"</p>
<p>"From Adel. Quistis urged you to take a Knight, did she not? I believe she thought it to be the best way of shielding your mind from the struggle within."</p>
<p>"Is there no other way?"</p>
<p>Edea clasped her long fingers together. "In truth, I do not know. Adel broke all of nature's laws when she attacked Quistis. For one Sorceress to kill another, to take her powers for herself... It is the greatest taboo. And it was Quistis who was forced to commit it. That is the reason she was so feared by the Trabians. She was not only a witch, but a witch-killer. A crime against Sorcery itself. It was a burden she did not bear lightly."</p>
<p>Instinctively, Rinoa 'felt' for the magic that pulsed through her, the nebulous blue mist that was the last residual piece of Quistis. <em>I'm sorry, </em>she thought, wondering if Quistis could somehow hear her. <em>I understood so little of your pain.</em></p>
<p>"I do not know if there has ever been another like you," Edea said, her eyes on the faint glow that had gathered around Rinoa's hands. "One who carries the gifts of two warring Sorceresses. In a normal Succession, our spirits cross into the world beyond when we pass on our magic, but theirs cannot. Adel and Quistis are locked in battle, perhaps forever. The Bond may be your best chance to keep yourself separate. If you do not, their conflict will consume you, just as it did before your Knight arrived."</p>
<p>"I will find another way," Rinoa said. "I <em>must</em>. This is not Squall's battle. I cannot have him commit his entire future to a struggle that must be mine. Mine, alone."</p>
<p>"He accepted it, when he offered you his service."</p>
<p>Rinoa shook her head. "He could not have understood what that meant. No, my mind is made up."</p>
<p>"So it seems." Edea took the jug of starflower tea, and refilled Rinoa's cup. "Your choices may yet take you elsewhere, but I hope you will stay here as long as you wish."</p>
<p>Rinoa sipped, too troubled by her thoughts to offer thanks. "If I do, it will only bring Seifer Almasy's army back to these shores. Or is he already on his way?"</p>
<p>Threads of gold wove their way across Edea's eyes, and she smiled with reassurance as soon as they vanished. "All I can tell you is that his ship remains moored at Dollet Harbor. The Farsight does not let me pry into the lives, or intentions, of individuals."</p>
<p>"He will come to reclaim me, sooner or later. Either him, or Lord Caraway. I am not sure which would be worse." Rinoa brooded over her cold tea. "I will not be able to live freely until I have faced them."</p>
<p>She could not say why, but she picked up the ring then, accepting its existence at last. Rinoa placed it in the palm of her hand and appraised its shape. Thick and molded, it was much heavier than a woman's ring, even the gold one set with a huge sapphire stone that had been a betrothal gift from Seifer. She had sworn never to wear that ring, either. She wondered, for the first time, what had happened to it. Perhaps shame had forced Lord Caraway to return it. How her father would have seethed.</p>
<p>"I saw the way Quistis lived," she said quietly. "Always in hiding, always fleeing. And what did it bring her, in the end? No, I will not abandon the rest of my life to the same fate."</p>
<p>Rinoa closed her hand, bringing her fingers over the smooth metal. Her course was set; she knew what to do.</p>
<p>"I must go to Galbadia to speak with my father. I will show him what I have become. I will make him understand that no lord, and no country, can own me." She looked up at Edea, and a note of pleading crept into her voice. "But not yet. Please let me stay a while longer, until I have gathered enough courage."</p>
<p>"Of course."</p>
<p>Later in the day, Edea brought the silver chain to Rinoa's room. A dainty, gossamer chain that shone as brightly as the ring did in the sunlight. It moved through her hands like water. Rinoa threaded the end of the chain through the ring, and held it for a few minutes, sitting on the bed, unsure.</p>
<p>She stood, and laid the necklace on the small table by the bed, beside the thick wax candle in its copper holder. Another day she might be ready to wear it, but her pillow was still indented with Squall's weight, the sheets embedded with his scent, and it was all too soon.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Rinoa muttered a lurid Esthari curse—one of Selphie's favorites—as the needle pricked her finger for the dozenth time. She held the skirt of the black gown up to the light and frowned at the gentle slant of its new hemline. Edea was a few inches taller than Rinoa, and those inches made all the difference between an elegant skimming of the lower calf and a swamping of the ankles. The gown's hem hung so low that Rinoa tripped on it almost daily. Determined to adapt it to her own stature, she had asked Edea for a needle and black thread.</p>
<p>Like any other Galbadian noblewoman, Rinoa had been tutored in needlework. That did not mean, of course, that she had any real aptitude for it, or the smallest inkling of interest. She had always doggedly avoided making any improvements in her sewing skills in the hope that the mind-numbingly dull lessons would cease. And they had, eventually. She had been considered a lost cause. Rinoa wrinkled her nose, imagining the way that Madam Francesca, Galbadia Castle's head seamstress, would purse her lips at the sight of the wonky hem and the sloppy stitches on the reverse side. Lord Caraway's daughter never got it right. That, at least, had not changed.</p>
<p>No matter. It was good enough to make do. Rinoa wriggled back into the gown, pleased at the new way it fell to her mid-calves. She could take unimpeded strides now; run, even, should she need to.</p>
<p>The days since Squall's ship had sailed had been filled with activity. Purposely so; Rinoa was flooded with guilt at the thought of her indolence in the days after the Bond. She had attempted to repay the multitude of favors incurred in Edea's care by spending the daylight hours helping Edea to cook, fetching the well-water, putting herself to use in the gardens, and harvesting a daily feast of autumnal Southern fruits, leafy greens, and various herbs, while eagerly absorbing Edea's encyclopedic knowledge of each plant's functions and benefits. Every day from morning until evening she was kissed by the sea breeze and warmed by the Centran sun, and her bare forearms turned browner than they had ever been in the weak sunshine of the Northern lands.</p>
<p>She used her new magic sparingly, with delight at each new revelation. Sparks of lightning crackled from her fingers, jumping into the sand where they were dampened immediately. Rinoa lit the fire at the hearth and the candle in her room with flames from her fingertips, and chilled Edea's herbal concoctions with ice that seeped from the palm of her hands. She even let out a peal of laughter at the discovery that she could turn the crabs that scuttled across the beach to stone, and back again. She had imagined herself asking Edea for tutelage, yet when it came to it, there seemed to be no need. The magic did what she told it to. It was not something that could be learned, nor taught: it was innate to her, as natural to her now as breathing.</p>
<p>But all the while, she knew that her days in this Southern idyll were numbered. She could not stay indefinitely. Each further day added to the danger that she would bring trouble to Edea.</p>
<p>One day, after she had eaten a lunch of mussel broth and young greens with Edea, Rinoa took the silver chain and the ring from her room, and carried it in her hands to the beach, distracted with fast-moving thoughts.</p>
<p>She fastened it around her neck as she stepped out into the sunshine. She did not know why she wanted, or maybe needed, Squall's ring right now, but she did, with an aching certainty.</p>
<p>The column of light above the steps had gone now. The scar left by Quistis' death was a healed wound. If Rinoa concentrated hard, she could see the outline of where the sky had been spliced together. She hardly dared acknowledge that it was <em>her </em>magic, the power that now resided inside her, that had cut through the world as if it were ragged cloth. If it could do that, what else could it do?</p>
<p><em>It. </em>She was no longer herself, not wholly. Instead, she had become a vessel for something she barely understood.</p>
<p>Rinoa descended the steps, sinking lower and lower into a strange fear that froze the pit of her stomach. <em>Who am I? </em>was the question that pushed at the edges of her mind, pressing in on all sides. It had taken shape after the Succession, and it had terrified her. It was only the Bond that had driven it from her thoughts. But now...</p>
<p>Unconsciously, her fingers curled around the silver ring at the base of her throat. It was solid, reassuring, weighty. Squall's ring. It had been on his finger the first time they met, though she had only seen it when he had removed his gloves, at the castle. Rinoa allowed herself to remember how it felt to be in his arms, skin against bare skin—</p>
<p>—In an instant, she was somewhere else. A cramped cabin, the cabin of a ship, with a gray, dusk-lit ocean outside its sole rounded window. She was not alone. Squall was sitting on a bed that took up most of the cabin, his head in his hands, fingers buried in his loosened hair.</p>
<p>Rinoa looked down at herself, and saw nothing. Only the gently swaying floor of the cabin. She was there, somehow, the conscious part of her, at least; but her body had not followed. It was the oddest feeling.</p>
<p>Squall lifted his head for a moment, frowned distractedly at the space where Rinoa floated, then let out a weak groan and curled into a ball on the bed. His face was pale and stricken. He closed his eyes, and she thought she had never seen him so bereft of spirit.</p>
<p>Rinoa pushed at the tangle of emotions that she knew was there, longing to feel his pain, to share the burden. She could have laughed aloud at what came flooding back to her: a wave of intense nausea. He missed her, yes, but that was not the reason for his pallid skin and wretched posture. He was as sick as a half-drowned chocobo. Lord Squall, the Young Lion, the heir to Esthar, was seasick.</p>
<p>She smiled, her chest warming with love for him, as well as a secret pleasure at discovering an all-too-human weakness in a man she had thought to be formed of pure steel and fortitude. Something else slipped into the mix, a thread of indignant ire. Was that hers, too? No, Rinoa thought distantly, as she examined this new emotion. He did not want to be pitied, not even by her, he did not want her to see him like this—</p>
<p>Squall's head jerked up sharply, his eyes attempting to focus on the point where she was. He rose off the bed into a shaky stand.</p>
<p><em>He knows, </em>she thought stupidly. <em>I let him in. He knows I am here.</em></p>
<p>He swayed as he stepped towards her, one hand outstretched to the patch of air that held her presence.</p>
<p>"Ri—"</p>
<p>Panicked, Rinoa let the silver ring slip from her fingers, and the motion brought her consciousness crashing back into her body. She was no longer adrift on a faraway ocean at twilight. Her bare feet stood on hot sand, the midday Centran sun blazing overhead.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"What can it have been? Was it the Farsight?" she asked Edea, as they both reached up to pluck vinefruits from overhead.</p>
<p>"I do not think so. Not if you felt as though you were truly there. And you say he saw you?"</p>
<p>Rinoa held a vinefruit in her fist so tightly that it burst, the sticky nectar spreading onto her palm. "He saw <em>something. </em>I am not sure how I appeared to his eyes."</p>
<p>"It sounds more akin to Quistis' ability. One that I lack. You have her gift; it is natural that it should pass to you."</p>
<p>Edea held out her arm for the basket, and Rinoa wiped her palm clean on a clump of leaves before passing the basket to be filled with Edea's pickings.</p>
<p>"Quistis took us from Trabia to here in the blink of an eye. Can I travel as she did?"</p>
<p>"It is called 'teleportation'. It is... imprecise. You can try, of course. You may be as successful as she was. But you should not overuse it. I know that it took a heavy toll on Quistis, even before she met with Adel's curse."</p>
<p>Rinoa's mind was spinning with possibilities, so much that the words <em>heavy toll </em>hardly registered, though she made a vague attempt to commit them to memory.</p>
<p>"If I try, right now, could I go anywhere? Anywhere in the world?"</p>
<p>Edea released a handful of fruits into the basket and gave Rinoa a warning look. "A babe cannot take its first steps at a run. If you must try, then practice with small distances. From this garden to the house. From the beach to the wheatfield. It would not do for you to be lost in some unknown place, sapped of all strength."</p>
<p>"Yes. Of course," said Rinoa, chastened.</p>
<p>She waited until their gardening work was done, and stood under the trellis of sprawling vines while Edea carried the day's harvest back to the house. Rinoa closed her eyes, and pictured her destination in her mind as clearly as she could.</p>
<p>
  <em>Edea's house. Edea's kitchen, by the hearth.</em>
</p>
<p>Something stirred, and she thought with elation that she was moving already. But it was the Bond that had awoken in her heart, crushing her concentration with a longing that was as painful as it was sweet. It was pulling her to the East, to <em>him</em>, and Rinoa's fingers began to creep towards the ring on the silver chain at her neck.</p>
<p>No. No, she must resist such temptation. She brought her hands firmly to her sides, and pushed all thoughts of Squall away.</p>
<p>
  <em>Edea's house. Edea's kitchen, by the hearth.</em>
</p>
<p>Rinoa opened her eyes to look down at her feet, which were stubbornly planted on the grass and earth of the orchard. She had not moved an inch. Nothing had happened. Not all of Quistis' gifts came to her easily; that much was clear.</p>
<hr/>
<p>For the rest of that day, and the two days that followed, she tried again. And again. Rinoa started to wonder how many failures she would tolerate before she conceded that teleportation was not within her power. Hundreds? Thousands?</p>
<p>Ten thousand, she thought grimly. Ten thousand, and then she could admit that it would not be hers.</p>
<p>She walked on the beach after the sun had set, her face turned upwards to the unfamiliar stars of the Southern skies. It was a marvel, really. She had seen the same constellations her whole life, whether in Galbadia, Esthar, or Trabia, and here she was at the Southern tip of the world, where the very heavens themselves were studded with different clusters of starlight. As if she was on another world, one that turned in another sky altogether.</p>
<p>New. Unknown. Different.</p>
<p>It made her feel different, too. Rinoa smiled to herself, a fresh confidence welling up in her body, the blue light of her magic spilling out into the dark, and she thought she heard a gentle chuckle at her ear. Quistis' chuckle, if that was not impossible.</p>
<p>...But then again, what was impossible for a Sorceress?</p>
<p>Nothing. Nothing at all.</p>
<p>Rinoa's laugh echoed across the sands, and she knew she did not even need to close her eyes this time.</p>
<p>
  <em>Edea's house. Edea's kitchen—</em>
</p>
<p>An unseen force, a hundred strong arms, grabbed her body to pull her through a void of black nothingness, until she emerged into the night air once more and was slammed hard against the ground. Or was it the floor? No... the threshold. The threshold of a house, an old stone house.</p>
<p>Overwhelming dizziness and a bone-deep exhaustion kept her from righting her body, and the best she could do was to raise her head slowly from the worn wooden beam. Edea was kneeling over her, and gentle hands were lifting her up. Rinoa tried to speak, but only an empty croak escaped her lips.</p>
<p>"Welcome, child." Edea's eyes crinkled at the sides. "Quite the entrance."</p>
<p>Rinoa had missed the kitchen and the hearth by quite some distance, but she had done it. She had traveled from one place to another, through the empty void, and all at her own will and command.</p>
<p>Lord Caraway's daughter never got it exactly right, and maybe that would never change. But more often than not, it was good enough to make do.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter XIV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter XIV</strong>
</p>
<p>"Are you recovered?" Edea asked.</p>
<p>"I think so. Yes."</p>
<p>Rinoa took hesitant steps into the kitchen, glad that her legs were managing to support her weight again at last. The first use of her power to travel between places had left her as shaky and unsteady as a newborn chocobo chick. After her sudden arrival on the threshold of the house, she had slept for a night and a day without waking, and each day since had been slow and frustrating as she waited for her strength to return.</p>
<p>She sat down at the table, hiding her frown in clasped hands, and stared into the flames that danced cheerfully under Edea's copper kettle at the hearth.</p>
<p>"Then what troubles you this morning?"</p>
<p>Rinoa, still watching the fire spit and crackle, tried to remember, to grasp the image before it vanished again.</p>
<p>"My dreams," she said. "I find myself in the same place often. A walled town, with great wooden gates, surrounded by tall pines. I have never seen it in waking life. What could it mean?"</p>
<p>She could not say for sure when the strange town had begun to appear. Perhaps it had been after Squall left, or only in these past few days since her first use of teleportation. It was so very fleeting, almost impossible to retain in her mind's eye. Rinoa lifted her gaze to Edea, to see her nodding in understanding.</p>
<p>"It is often so. When one becomes a Sorceress, the flow of Time becomes a little less straightforward. No, we cannot traverse it freely. Would that we could!" Edea gave a small sigh, and sat at the table. "But you may see visions, most often in dreams, of things that have not yet come to pass. Some never come to pass at all. Dwelling on such visions takes us away from the moment we are living in. I have found it best to pay them little heed."</p>
<p>"I suppose you are right."</p>
<p>Rinoa wondered where such a town might be, or whether it existed at all. It did not have the look of Esthar, nor of Galbadia. It was unlikely to be Balamb, either, whose houses were built with whitewashed stone and marble. The trees could have been Centran pines, she supposed; after all, she knew precious little of the South. Or it could be some minor outlying town in Dollet, or Monterosa, that she had never had cause to visit...</p>
<p>The steaming bowl of sweet gourd soup that Edea placed in front of her interrupted Rinoa's thoughts, and she tucked in with relish.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Some days later, with several more successful teleportation trips under her belt, Rinoa was climbing the age-worn stone steps that spiraled up to the higher levels of the lighthouse. It was dark and musty inside the ancient tower, with crumbling walls and precarious footing, but over the past few days she had developed a burning determination to reach the top. If she could, she would see all around for miles; see the curve of the land, and choose her next destination in her daily practice.</p>
<p>The first trip had been the worst, in terms of recovery. After the second, and then the third, Rinoa's strength had flowed back faster, once the initial sickening exhaustion had cleared. In her subsequent experiments, however, she discovered that the greater the distance traveled, the weaker it left her. If she were to be serious about her half-formed plan of using this new skill to carry her inside the gates of Galbadia Castle to reason with her father, she would need to build her endurance first. Such a leap across continents might leave her a weakling for days.</p>
<p>Sometimes her power brought her almost exactly to the place she had envisaged, and at other times, she missed her target by varying degrees. Precision, it seemed, was all but impossible, so Rinoa instead focused her efforts on increasing the distance traveled. She had now explored every patch of the beach, the nearby woods, and Edea's sprawling garden and orchard. There was only one place she could not bring herself to visit: the flower field. Even the thought of it brought her mind dangerously close to Squall, and she did not trust that she possessed enough self-control to stop herself from slipping away to wherever he was.</p>
<p>She reached the final steps, scattered with rubble from a broken wall, and hauled herself over the debris to the topmost chamber. The light room, at last. A small circular room, it was even narrower than those that had come before, but it had wide, unglazed windows on all sides, and the sun streamed in to fill the space with light.</p>
<p>Under a central chimney stood a deep, curved stone bowl mounted on a pedestal, with traces of sticky yellowed oil at the bottom, and the frayed remnants of a thick rope wick. Rinoa wondered who had last lit this lamp, and how long ago. Edea had said that the lighthouse was already long-abandoned when she first came to the Cape. Rinoa closed her eyes, and imagined a storm raging outside, a lighthouse-keeper shouting orders to pour more oil into the lamp, to keep the light burning so that the South Centran fishing ships would not be dashed against the rocks.</p>
<p>But the ocean was calm on this sunny morning, and ships no longer sailed in these waters. She crossed to the window and looked out at the expanse of blue that unfurled before her. Far out to sea, she thought she saw the shimmer of some sea creature's tail, before it vanished under the water with a distant splash. The glint of its scales had looked more like a Blue Dragon than any fish she knew. Rinoa blinked, and shook herself. A trick of the light, no doubt. Dragons could not live at sea.</p>
<p>The opposite side of the tower offered her a spectacular panorama of the cliffs and meadows inland, all the way to the dim blue hills at the horizon. There was a far plateau, its grassy plain lit almost white by the sunlight, and Rinoa grinned, the spark of a new challenge flaring in her chest. The plateau would be her next destination. The furthest one yet.</p>
<p>Her hands still resting on the stone windowsill, she closed her eyes, and pictured herself on the plateau, windswept grasses all around, the sea sparkling in the distance. She felt the pull of the void before it came. It was almost easy now.</p>
<p>Then it was upon her. Empty, dark, nothing, <em>nothing, there was nothing all around her—</em>no she wouldn't be frightened, not anymore—</p>
<p>When the void spat her out against the grass, the impact knocked the air from her lungs, and she did not realize how far she had missed the plateau by until she opened her eyes. A canopy of wildflowers bowed over her head, the scents of a dozen different blooms jostling for her attention, and Rinoa let out a strangled moan of defeat. Not <em>here</em>. She was not supposed to land here, because it turned her thoughts to... to...</p>
<p>She stopped herself, but it was too late. The flower field was whipped away, and she was in a cramped wooden building, the floor strewn with hay. It was dim and gloomy, the only light coming from a small oil lamp by the entrance. She knew this place. The stables of Esthar Castle.</p>
<p>She was there—floating, disembodied—in front of Squall, whose back was turned to her as he applied feather-oil to a chocobo with a leather cloth. The bird's feathers were dark, almost black, or perhaps indigo. It must be the one he had ridden during the ill-fated charge across Bika Snowfield, Rinoa thought. The scene reformed in her mind: a streak of black racing across the white, bringing Squall closer, and how desperately she had reached for him.</p>
<p>They had not been Bonded back then, she reminded herself. Her love for him had grown of its own accord, not cultivated by sorcery. There was a comfort in knowing that. She watched his hands as he worked the oil into the chocobo's feathers. Squall was using the same methodical, precise movements as when she had seen him sharpen his sword, but every now and then he would reach up to pat the bird reassuringly or scratch its neck, and it trilled softly with affection.</p>
<p>Rinoa was reminded of the words of her father's old stablemaster. <em>You can always tell the measure of a man from how he treats his mount. Always.</em></p>
<p>This, then, was the measure of Squall, she thought approvingly. Seifer, on the other hand, had always used sharp spurs on his boots to make his birds run faster. A jab to the flank, a frenzied squawk of pain. Rinoa shuddered, and felt it, even with her body so far away.</p>
<p>Squall had stopped his motions, and stood paused, the cloth held in his clenched fist.</p>
<p>"You should know better than to compare me to him."</p>
<p>He dropped the cloth in the bucket of oil at his feet, stilling the chocobo's chirp of protest with his other hand.</p>
<p>"Rinoa, I know you are here."</p>
<p>"Can you see me?" she whispered, but no words came. Her voice belonged to her body, in the meadow of wildflowers, half the world away. She tried again, this time through their unseen connection.</p>
<p>
  <em>Can you see me?</em>
</p>
<p>"You do not need to be seen to make your presence known. What do you want from me?" He turned, his eyes scanning the air for her. "Why are you here? You do not want to be with me. Have you changed your mind?"</p>
<p>
  <em>It is not a matter of the mind. My heart pulls me here. It seems I cannot fight it.</em>
</p>
<p>"Then do not fight it."</p>
<p>Even if she could have withstood the force of her own longing, compounded with his it was too much to bear. Every emotion of hers was doubled and reflected back at her, a chaotic sea of painful desire that she had suppressed in waking life, but now she stood no chance; she would drown in it all.</p>
<p>Squall reached out his hand, searching for her, determined to find where she was, and she could not help but move her fingers to touch his, fingers that were not even on the same continent, oh, this was so confusing—</p>
<p>Their fingertips made contact, impossible contact, and Rinoa lurched forward, propelled by the rapid dragging of her body through the void to rejoin her consciousness. The collision left her seeing stars, with a roaring heat surging through her body as her nerves and synapses flared to life. Something solid had stopped her from stumbling against the stable floor, and she realized that Squall had caught her mid-fall, and she was trembling violently in his arms.</p>
<p>The chocobo squawked loudly in alarm, spreading its wings. Squall patted its neck and hushed its warbling. Rinoa heard an anxious chirrup spread among the other birds in the stables, echoing the discomfort of Squall's mount. Her arrival had caused quite the commotion.</p>
<p>Squall's bird prodded Rinoa's hair with its beak, with more curiosity than aggression, but it made her start in surprise, covering her face with her hands. Squall tugged her away from the chocobo, and led her by the hand to the feed room, a dark, windowless antechamber stacked high with bales of hay and Gysahl greens. She pulled herself free, turning to face him, and in the process backed into the pile of bales until she was pinned against them. Rinoa did not know which of them initiated the kiss, only that they were kissing, and with far more heat and urgency than they ever had in the languid days spent together at Edea's house.</p>
<p>She might have accepted it as a vision until now, remained in denial that her power could have brought her halfway across the globe to Esthar. But not now. Every sensation told her that this was real. The rough press of his lips, the sharp spikes of the hay bale digging into her back, the raw smells of the stables overpowering the sweet scent of the feather-oil on Squall's hands. She could taste him, feel his hardness pushing against her thigh. A vision could never be so visceral.</p>
<p>He was kissing her neck, and she gasped, twisting her head free to hear the bootsteps in the courtyard outside. The chocobo's frightened cries had roused the castle guards, and someone was coming.</p>
<p>"They will find us," she breathed. "We cannot—"</p>
<p>"I don't care." Squall's voice was rough with passion, and his grip on her arms tightened. His kisses moved from her neck to her breast, his hand tugging her gown down low enough to expose one side, and she fought against a spike of sharp pleasure as he began to flick the tip of his tongue across her tightened nub of flesh.</p>
<p>"No." Rinoa lifted his head away, and pulled her gown back up to her shoulder. "I should not be here. I have my own path to tread. We cannot do this."</p>
<p>She closed her eyes, because to look at him now would prove her undoing, and concentrated hard on the flower field. A blue sky overhead, daises, milkweed and silverbush under her feet, grasses as tall as her thighs—</p>
<p>Her form began to melt away, and Squall's hands passed through the skin of her arms to the hay bale beneath.</p>
<p>Squall swore, and pressed his fingers to her cheeks, cupping her half-ghostly face in his hands. She could feel him willing her in place, keeping her solid. She relented, letting herself fill the space once more, and Squall took immediate advantage by capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss.</p>
<p>"Stay," he growled when her lips parted. "<em>Stay."</em></p>
<p>The bootsteps hammered closer, the chocobos' cries had risen to a chorus of alarm, and Rinoa's only thought was that she could not be caught here, <em>not like this</em>, she was a Sorceress, and no matter what Squall said, the people of Esthar would surely not accept her—</p>
<p>The void embraced her, and she was torn out of his arms, back to the flower field, under a bright morning sky.</p>
<p>She sank to her knees, staring at her shaking fingers, fingers that had been pressed against his skin only moments before, her lips still raw from the crush of his mouth against hers.</p>
<p>Rinoa slipped into unconsciousness before her head hit the earth, and did not move when Edea found her two hours later, nor when she was carried into the house, nor the next day.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Propped up in the bed on three pillows, she swallowed the last of the broth and smiled weakly up at Edea.</p>
<p>"Your strength returned before. It will come to you again. Do not fear." Edea took the cup from her hands, and placed it on the nightstand next to the silver chain that bore Squall's ring.</p>
<p>Rinoa held a hand up to her face, looking at her fingers forlornly. She tried one more time, but there was nothing. No spark, no glow.</p>
<p>"My magic... I cannot make it flow. It has vanished."</p>
<p>Edea knelt at the side of the bed, resting her chin on folded arms. "Ah, yes. I wondered if it might."</p>
<p>"Has this happened to you, too?" Rinoa asked, eyes wide.</p>
<p>"Not to me. To Quistis. When she was a girl, she loved to play with her gift of instant travel." Edea smiled at the memory. "There were several times when she tried to leap too far a distance, and her magic went into slumber during the days that followed. The natural result of overexertion, I suppose."</p>
<p>"Then I can get it back? Quistis did, didn't she?" Rinoa struggled to sit up straight in the bed. "Tell me how!"</p>
<p>"Calm yourself, dear child. It will return to you in time, when it is fully healed. Rest some more."</p>
<p>She lay back against the pillows with a soft thud. <em>Rest some more. </em>Did she have time for all this resting? While time trickled away, what plans might Seifer, or her father, be making in the meantime?</p>
<p>But there was no use; she could not even lift herself from the bed. Rinoa closed her eyes as soon as Edea left the room, and another day was lost to her.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"I still cannot feel it."</p>
<p>She was well enough to walk now, and to join Edea in the garden, sitting on a blanket in the shade under the vines while Edea tended to the plants. Rinoa's magic, though, had not returned to her. It had been four days. She missed it, <em>craved</em> it, with a hunger that took her by surprise. No, she had never asked nor wanted to become a Sorceress, but to have her newfound powers taken away so soon was a loss that gnawed at her each and every second that she was awake.</p>
<p>Edea gazed out to sea for a long moment before she spoke. "There was one thing that often helped Quistis, if I remember. When she bathed—"</p>
<p>"I thought you did not have a tub here," Rinoa interrupted, frowning. All the times she had taken a stand-up wash at that tiny sink, when there was a bathroom, hidden away in some corner of the house?</p>
<p>Edea gave a gentle laugh. "In the ocean, child. What need have I of a bathtub when the Southern Sea is at my doorstep?"</p>
<p>"Oh. But I cannot swim," Rinoa said, disheartened. Sea-bathing was not a pastime for noble ladies. Lord Caraway had always said that the coast was a place only fit for fishermen, fishwives, bandits and smugglers.</p>
<p>"You need not. Just submerge yourself in the waves at the shore. Let the water cover your body."</p>
<p>"How could that possibly help?"</p>
<p>"I am not sure. There is much we do not understand about the ocean. It may possess a magic of its own. The Centrans call it the Great Mother of All, did you know that? Or perhaps..." Edea's eyes returned to the blue horizon. "There is a Guardian of the Ocean that visits these waters. I sometimes thought I could see its tail rising from the waves, far out at sea, when Quistis was bathing. I began to think that maybe it was fond of her; that it came here to protect her." She brought a hand to scratch her cheek, looking almost embarrassed. "Of course, my imaginings could be mere nonsense. No-one can claim to understand how a Guardian might look upon a mortal girl."</p>
<p>Rinoa caught her breath, remembering the flash of dragon-scales she had seen from the top of the lighthouse.</p>
<p>"What is its name?" she asked.</p>
<p>"Leviathan."</p>
<hr/>
<p>She stood at the water's edge, feeling foolish and nervous, and waited until a thin layer of foam came close enough sweep over her toes.</p>
<p>
  <em>Cold.</em>
</p>
<p>Rinoa stepped back onto drier sand, clumps of it now stuck to her feet, and pulled the black gown over her shoulders, letting it fall onto the beach. She hesitated before adding her undergarments to the pile.</p>
<p>The air was warm, but she shivered as she disrobed. How utterly strange it was to be so exposed, fully bare, under the wide blue sky. No eyes were on her, she was sure of that; there was no other soul around for hundreds of miles, other than Edea back at the house. Even so, she could not help but feel vulnerable, standing naked and alone on the sweeping coast.</p>
<p>Well. There was no point in delaying it now. Rinoa waded into the water up to her waist. The initial contact made her skin tighten in protest, but as the sea welcomed her, she found it to be warmer than expected. She spread her arms wide, trying to find her balance, the waves rocking her gently as they rose and fell, the crest of the water rising up to cover the top of her breasts. <em>So this is how it feels, </em>she thought. Twenty-one years and more, she had lived without knowing what it was to touch the ocean. Rinoa shook her head at her own childlike ignorance, and waded further out. The water reached her neck now. A wave came that was taller than the others, and it crashed against her face, leaving her gasping and spitting salty water. She started to laugh, thinking how ridiculous she looked, but the laughter rapidly turned to panic as she lost her footing. She could no longer feel the seabed under her feet, and she did not know how to keep herself afloat.</p>
<p>She went under for a few moments, the waters closing over her head, and fought to scrabble back towards the shore so she could pull herself upright again. Soon her foot struck against a rock, and she emerged from the water in a spluttering, coughing mess, a slimy tendril of dark red seaweed plastered to her forehead and nose. Rinoa staggered back to the shoreline, and flopped down on the sand to catch her breath, and the laughter bubbled back.</p>
<p>"I am not sure," she said out loud to the sky, "if I have ever looked such a fool."</p>
<p>She dug her feet into the wet sand and sat upright, allowing the edges of the waves to run up and down her legs, washing away everything: her fears, her embarrassment, the pain of her longing for her faraway Knight. She closed her eyes, and it could have been one minute, or ten, or thirty before she opened them. When she did, Rinoa felt wholly calm, refreshed, and reawakened. Yet still, she could not feel the return of her magic.</p>
<p>She looked out over the waves, her eyes lazy and unfocused. After a while, a flicker of light caught her notice, and there it was again: the shimmer of dragon-scales. Rinoa rose to her feet and shielded her eyes with one hand from sun's glare. Yes, there was definitely something there, far out at sea. She stood rooted to the spot as the lights danced, the surface erupted in white waves, and an immense sea snake rose from the water. Its body was a pale, luminous blue—the same color as Quistis' magic, Rinoa thought with a wild twinge of excitement—with deeper green and purple along its head-spikes, and dark violet edging the tips of its spindly wings.</p>
<p>The Guardian. Was it acknowledging her? Was it waiting for her to do something, say something?</p>
<p>Rinoa walked out into the water again, until it came to her chest, and tried to remember how Quistis had addressed Shiva on the day of the Esthari army's attack.</p>
<p>"Lord Leviathan," she called over the water.</p>
<p>Her voice was quickly lost in the crash of the waves. But sound travels across water, she reminded herself, and tried again.</p>
<p>"Lord Guardian, Leviathan. The girl you protected is gone, but her gift lives on in me. Will you grant me the same favor?"</p>
<p>The great beast's head was hovering over the waves. It was too far away for Rinoa to make out its eyes, but she was sure it was facing in her direction. She held its gaze, all the while thinking that this was sheer madness, a naked girl staring up at a god-beast—what if she had displeased it?</p>
<p>The Guardian rose high above the water, and its enormous tail, ending in a wide, flat fin of pale primrose yellow, curved and splashed back into the sea with a sound like a thunderclap. As the creature disappeared below the waves, sparkling lights raced from the spot where it had hit the water, darting across the surface of the ocean, to the shore. To Rinoa.</p>
<p>The light was coming for her, and whether it would come as pain or healing, she had to make a choice now, and Rinoa's choice was to trust the Guardian.</p>
<p>She held out both hands, and when the wave of pale blue light hit her, it filled her with pure power, with sacred energy, with magic. Magic that was hers. It tingled all over her bare skin, danced across her breasts and belly, and crackled from each black strand of her soaked hair.</p>
<p>"Thank you," Rinoa called.</p>
<p>She received no answer. There was only the calm azure ocean, for miles and miles, until the very end of the world.</p>
<p>Each step firm and steady, she walked through the waves and onto the wet sand, her skin a thousand points of light, and a sky-blue fire lit once more in her blood.</p>
<p>Sorceress Rinoa had returned.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter XV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Chapter XV</strong>
</p><p>The knowledge that she was ready came to Rinoa upon waking in the morning, a calm certainty that arrived fresh and wholly-formed. It must have exuded from her like an aura, prompting Edea's observation on her arrival to the kitchen.</p><p>"So today is the day, it seems."</p><p>"Yes." Rinoa stretched her arms above her head, and felt the magic flow upwards, a vortex that fizzed away into the air. "Yes, it is time for me to do what I must do."</p><p>"Let us ensure you have a hearty breakfast, then."</p><p>Edea left the room while Rinoa munched on her toasted flatbread, using the crusts to mop up the streaks of olive oil that had dripped onto the plate. When Edea returned, she was holding a small hemp bag in both hands.</p><p>"You may have need of gold. Take as much as you want."</p><p>She emptied the contents of the bag onto the table. Rinoa wiped the oil from her fingers with the serving cloth next to her plate, and picked up a Galbadian gold sovereign. It was very old; not minted in her father or grandfather's reigns, but her great-grandfather's. She sifted through the pile of assorted money in wonder. There were Dolletian livre, silver Esthari ingots from a time long before Adel's rule, gleaming Centran gil, and tightly tied bundles of the slim bronze rods used as currency in Balamb.</p><p>She closed her open mouth when she registered Edea's amusement. "However did you—"</p><p>"In my youth, I was quite the traveler. I have little need of it now."</p><p>Rinoa pushed the coins away, shaking her head. "I cannot take your money, Edea. I have taken so much from you already."</p><p>"Nonsense. Everything you have has been given freely. A Sorceress can only give; she cannot be stolen from." Edea picked up the antique gold sovereign and placed it in Rinoa's palm, closing her fingers around it. "I should be relieved to know you had enough gold to keep yourself warm and fed. Humor me this once, my dear child."</p><p>Rinoa acquiesced, and let Edea press four more coins into her hand before protesting. "This is surely enough."</p><p>She stood up from the table, and wondered how to begin making her farewells to this woman who had saved her life several times over. The magic was already tugging at her, whispering its excitement that she would soon be up, up and away, a thousand or more leagues from here. <em>Quiet now, </em>Rinoa told it, and opened her mouth to speak.</p><p>Edea stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Wait. It is barely spring in Galbadia; you will be cold. I still have your traveling cloak. Let me fetch it."</p><p>She came back from the upstairs room with Squall's leather cloak, clean and neatly folded, in her arms. Rinoa could not fight the tears that pricked at her eyes. She pressed her fingertips against the soft pelt, and pulled the cloak around her shoulders, its warmth a distant echo of Squall's embrace. If he were here now...</p><p>He might have raised an eyebrow at the incongruity of her strange ensemble, she thought with a smile. The battered leather boots that had carried her across Trabia, now soft and supple again with the aid of Edea's blend of oil and beeswax. The black gown, shortened to a length that gave Rinoa freedom, covered with Squall's Esthari cloak, its snow-white pelt framing her shoulders like a mantle of thistledown. The silver chain and lion-shaped ring at her throat. Odd she might look, but she felt strong in these clothes, imposing, even. With their curious mix of toughness and elegance, they were befitting for a traveling Sorceress. Strength, and softness. She would be a source of both.</p><p>Edea took hold of both her hands, smiling her approval. "Now you look ready. Go well, dear child. And should you find yourself in need of refuge, whether tomorrow or ten years from now, you may return. There will always be a place for you here, Rinoa."</p><p>She faltered, knowing no words could be adequate. "I do not know how to begin to thank you. You have shown me more kindness than any other." Rinoa leaned up to kiss Edea on the cheek, then withdrew her hands, and closed her eyes.</p><p>
  <em>My father's castle. The Great Hall. Under the portrait of Grandfather.</em>
</p><p>The silver ring was suddenly heavy at her neck, the weight of an anchor, pulling her Eastwards, to him.</p><p><em>No, </em>she thought with wild dismay. <em>Not there. My father's castle!</em></p><p>Edea's house was ripped away from her, the void closed all around, and when Rinoa emerged it was to burning heat, sand as far as she could see, a sea of sand that glimmered a brilliant white under the fierce sun.</p><p>Her physical form lay crumpled on the sand, with the other part of her detached, uninvolved, looking on in mild curiosity. The horror and fear that had consumed her mind had melted away the moment the etheric Rinoa split apart from her body. She was free now, free to go to—</p><p>—him.</p><p>Squall's blade swung upwards, an arc of steel, and the clang of metal rang out across the courtyard as it met the x-shaped cross of Kiros' knives. The two men pushed against each other, and Rinoa was not sure which of them was stronger, until Kiros yielded, pulling back to his battle stance, knives swaying menacingly at his sides.</p><p>Dusk had nearly fallen in Esthar, she realized. Squall's shadow was long, and Kiros' even longer. <em>But I have no shadow at all, </em>thought Rinoa dimly. She was suspended in the air near the castle wall. Zell stood not far from her side, his arms folded, his grin wide. His eyes followed Squall's every move. Ward squatted at the other side, a huge iron trident leaning against the wall behind him, towering over his shoulder. Even squatting, he was as tall as Zell. He looked on without any discernible emotion as Squall and Kiros whirled and parried. Rinoa wondered if perhaps Ward's turn was next. Or had Squall already trained against him?</p><p>She returned her invisible gaze to the dance of blades, and found herself watching Kiros as much as she was watching Squall. Kiros gripped a knife in each hand, and swung them in perfect unison. The blades were wide, almost triangular, tapering to a fearsomely sharp point. They were Centran <em>katals</em>; Rinoa had read about these, but never seen them used. Kiros' lithe grace belied a man of his years. He was nimble, faster even than Squall, and the sweep of his long green robes as he moved did not appear to slow him at all. Squall struck against the crossed <em>katals </em>once more, and Kiros jumped backwards, producing a thick cloud of dust on landing that made Zell cough and wipe at his eyes with clenched fists.</p><p>As she watched, she became aware of a strange heat seeping through her, and a burning sensation at the back of her neck and across her left hand. It struck Rinoa as odd, but she waved the thought away. She was not really here, after all, so how could she be feeling anything?</p><p>An intangible tug at her mind told her that she had made unwitting contact with Squall. She pulled away, but it was too late. His eyes were already darting around the courtyard, suspecting her, sensing her.</p><p>When the connection took hold, it came as a forceful, angry rush, as if he had struck her with an open hand.</p><p>
  <em>Go.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Away.</em>
</p><p>He pushed the words into her mind, and she would have cried out in shock if she had command of her voice.</p><p>Squall brought his wrist to his mouth and licked a ribbon of blood away. Rinoa realized that he had been a split-second too slow in parrying Kiros' strike, and the edge of one <em>katal </em>had caught and nipped at his skin.</p><p>Kiros dipped his head in a courteous bow. "My apologies, my young lord."</p><p>"The fault is mine." Squall did not look up.</p><p>"Still, a rare miss. Has something distracted you?"</p><p>"Nothing worth speaking of."</p><p>Rinoa felt the force of his scowl even before it formed on his face, and she tried to pull further away, to extricate herself from the stifling hold of his anger.</p><p>
  <em>Go. Leave. Do you want them all to see you?</em>
</p><p>She was trying, couldn't he feel that? Did he think she <em>wanted</em> this, that she reveled in his scorn?</p><p>
  <em>I... I can't...</em>
</p><p>The searing pain in her hand was too strong to ignore now, the sweltering heat that ran through her core would soon kill her, if she did not... Did not what? She could not remember...</p><p>
  <em>You need to leave. Now.</em>
</p><p>Squall shifted his position to hold his sword out towards Kiros once again, and Rinoa saw the spray of dust and sand created by the movement of his boots. Sand... <em>sand... </em>That meant something, but she was too hot to make sense of it.</p><p>Sand!</p><p>She was lying face down in a sea of sand, her body was slowly dying in the desert, burning under its merciless sun. Rinoa screamed, a scream that did not emerge, and she hurtled back through the void with a resounding crash into a body that was a ball of hot sweat and pain under the heavy leather cloak that had saved her skin from burning to a crisp. Only one hand had moved free of the cloak, and its skin was as red as the embers of a fire. A patch of skin at the back of her neck had been exposed too, where the snow-pelt collar, matted with sweat, had slipped down. Both her neck and her hand howled at her in agony, as if someone had dragged a red-hot poker across them. She clawed the sticky sand out of her eyes and tried to pull herself upright.</p><p>The sun's heat had lost its edge; night must be falling in this place. Whether this was the desert to the south of Galbadia, or the Kashkabald Desert at the eastern tip of Centra, she had no idea. All she knew was that the life-sapping cold of the desert at night was even more dangerous than the heat, as deadly as winter in Trabia, and if she could not transport herself a second time, she would die here.</p><p>Blocking out the nausea and pain was impossible, but she pushed it as far away as it would go, and focused her thoughts.</p><p>
  <em>My father's castle. The Great Hall.</em>
</p><p>This time, her concentration must be absolute. If she allowed her longing for her Knight to pull her off course again, she could find herself in the middle of the Great Sea.</p><p>Rinoa cleared her mind until there was nothing but the cold stone walls of Galbadia Castle. Muted northern sunlight creeping through the stained glass, casting faint colored shadows on the flagstone floor.</p><p>
  <em>My father's castle. The Great Ha—</em>
</p><p>The desert sped away from her, far away, as if plucked by a god's hand from the sky and thrown across the planet, discarded. Cool woodland air suffused Rinoa, acting as balm to her burned skin, and her knees were met by a carpet of pale, heart-shaped flowers. A forest floor. A Galbadian forest floor, in those last impatient weeks before the coming spring would envelop it in resplendent green.</p><p>Her shaking fingers brushed against a petal, and she knew she was in the land of her birth.</p><hr/><p>How long she lay there, she would never know, but in time, her eyes opened to the forest on the cusp of sunset. Birds were chirruping their last songs of the day, a rising choral crescendo that teased Rinoa awake. As her mind slowly trickled back to waking life, so did her leaden exhaustion, and the searing heat of the desert sunburn on her skin.</p><p>The babbling sounds of a nearby stream invited her to drag herself to its edge, half-crawling, half-rolling, and she plunged her burned hand into the water, gasping at the pain.</p><p>No more. This was agony. Rinoa lay back on the muddy bank, chest heaving with uneven breaths.</p><p>Wait. What was she doing? She was a Sorceress. Pain could be healed.</p><p>It took all her strength to muster a few drops of magic from her fingers, but they came, and Rinoa watched the angry red skin darken and harden as the pain lifted away. She sank down into the earth again, weakened from the sheer effort of forcing magic from a well that was exhausted. When she was able, she cupped her hands and plunged them into the stream to drink.</p><p>Her eyes followed the winding curve of the stream to a clearing, where a stone chimney was visible through the trees. She might have laughed, if she had not felt so broken.</p><p>Rinoa knew these woods well. Her magic had brought her to the Royal Forest. In the clearing past those trees stood a summer hunting lodge belonging to the Galbadian ruling family, where she had spent many happy days as a girl, back when Lord Caraway still permitted his daughter to ride. It would be empty now. The hunting season, at the height of the Galbadian summer, was months away.</p><p>She dragged herself towards it. Her knees sank into the layer of half-decomposed dead leaves from the autumn past, with spring shoots still few and far between. By the time she made it to the clearing, she was crawling on her arms, her strength spent. Rinoa kneeled and gazed upwards, fighting back tears. No, this was no homecoming, she should not be feeling sentimental to see it, but...</p><p>The Caraway coat of arms gleamed above her in the thin afternoon sun. The herald of her bloodline was carved and painted on a wooden shield, hung at the top of the lodge's entrance. A proud eagle, its wings outstretched, with an arrow clasped in its beak, against a field of bright green.</p><p><em>Will you welcome your daughter? </em>she asked the eagle silently, and struggled to her feet, gripping at the row of bird-posts as leverage. Her fingers closed on a heavy iron ring, intended to hold chocobo reins. How many times had she tied Alice here in her youth, letting her graze on the fresh bracken underfoot?</p><p>She stumbled on, to the entrance. There was no key, no lock; there was nothing to steal here. The lodge was little more than a shelter from the rain, with a fireplace to cook the meat of the day's hunt. Other than the chimney and hearth, the lodge was wooden, with walls built from round logs split in two, and the windows were unglazed. There were no beds, but there were blankets, Rinoa recalled, and they and Squall's cloak would keep her warm enough to claim the sleep her body so craved.</p><p>She pulled down as many woolen blankets from the shelves as she could hold, and sat at the fireplace, trying to light a flame on the charred blocks of oak that lay in the grate, covered in gray-black dust. The fire would not come. The magic itself was lost to her, depleted. Rinoa cursed and brought herself to a shaky stand. Was there a tinderbox, somewhere?</p><p>The shelves were almost bare. Thick beeswax candles, two tobacco pipes, a coil sinew for restringing a hunting bow, but no tinderbox. Maybe it was for the best, Rinoa thought. A woodsman might see the smoke coming from the chimney, and find her, asleep, defenseless, and unable to fight him off... she shuddered, her mind sharpening. Of <em>course </em>she ought not light a fire. What was she thinking? She was so tired, too tired for clear thoughts. Better to sleep now, and give herself a chance to regain her wits.</p><p>She crept under the blankets, layered for warmth, and stretched out across the uneven oak floorboards, next to the empty hearth. Dark was setting in outside, seeping through the square holes that served for windows, and the evening chill made her breath visible. Eyelids sagging, Rinoa reached to touch the silver ring around her neck for a scrap of comfort, then wrenched her fingers away as if burned. No, Squall would not welcome her presence again. He had made that painfully clear.</p><hr/><p>She slipped in and out of dreams, some stranger than others.</p><p>The most pleasant dream was the one of the town in the pine forest. This time it was sharper, in better focus, and the deep-rooted feeling of <em>home </em>was undeniable. But whose home? It was not hers. Rinoa did not know this place at all.</p><p>From the empty town square, she floated into a small wooden cabin. Early-morning sunshine, the color of warm honey, flooded the room through cream-colored curtains. A dog padded softly across the floor and settled at the foot of the bed, where a dark-haired woman lay asleep under a patchwork quilt. A glint of sunlight bounced off a silver ring on a chain, on the table by the bed. No... Not one silver ring, but two. Rinoa frowned. Who was this woman, in her room of peace and warmth, with her dog—the most beautiful, shaggy-haired dog—by her side? Was she some mockery of Rinoa's own life, a life that could have been free?</p><p>Whoever she was, she bore little resemblance to the wretched creature huddling under the weight of four blankets, with matted hair and pallid skin, crusted deep red and brown burns across her neck and hand. The girl who was... pathetic. A weakling. A voice, very far away, laughed at that, and it was not a laugh of humor. Rinoa realized with a jolt that the house among the pines was gone, and she was awake again, shivering and cold in the hunting lodge.</p><p>It was daytime now, but whether it was the second day, the third day, or the fifth, Rinoa could not guess. The aches throughout her body from lying in the same position, her cracked dry lips and parched throat told her that it had been a long time. Dangerously long. In the aftermath of her attempts at instant travel at the southern Cape, Edea had always been there to care for her, to keep her alive with food, water and a motherly touch. Now Rinoa was alone, too weak to hunt for food, too weak to travel through the forest to seek her father's mercy. Would it cost her life to gamble in the hope that her strength would return before her body wasted away? How many days could she survive here?</p><p>She managed to drag herself outside, back to the bank of the stream, and drank until her stomach swelled with water. Light raindrops had begun to form mist in her hair by the time she finished her crawl up the steps of the lodge, and Rinoa lay inside, listening the rain drumming on the lodge's roof, shivering under the moth-eaten blankets.</p><p><em>Sleep</em>. She needed to rest. Sleep was the only thing that could bring her strength, and her magic, back to her.</p><p>A thousand different dreams flitted past, but this one stuck. She stood in a dark room, looking down at three candles, only two of which were lit. One candle burned with a blood-red flame, the other pale blue. Rinoa paid them no heed. It was the candle in the middle that she was transfixed by. She knew she had to light it. That she would die if she did not. She closed her eyes, and willed the flame to spring to life.</p><p>Nothing. The wick was white, waxy, unused. It had never been lit. And Rinoa did not know how to make it light.</p><p>She could pick up the blue flame, and light the wick with it. Or, she admitted, the red one, though she did not even want to touch that. But those flames would be borrowed. It should be <em>hers</em>. There must be another way.</p><p>If only she knew what it was.</p><hr/><p>The dream was lost to her on waking, with only the words <em>there must be another way</em> remaining in her mind<em>.</em></p><p>The rain had stopped, and a spark of Quistis' blue magic spilled out unprompted from her fingertips when she moved her hand. Rinoa caught her breath in relief. <em>I knew you would not leave me,</em> she told Quistis silently, then blinked, puzzled by the sudden mental image of a blue-flamed candle. It was soon gone, and she let herself forget it was ever there.</p><p>She was able to pull herself up to stand with less effort today. Her hunger led her out of the hunting lodge to the woodland outside, where the stream water quenched her thirst, and a few foraged green herbs and bitter dandelion leaves lined her stomach. Rinoa lay by the stream for an hour or longer, hoping to catch a fish in her bare hands, without success. After giving up, she chewed on handfuls of fireweed shoots, and made her way back to the pile of blankets, mired in exhaustion once again. She did not even notice, as she drifted asleep, that her fingers had found their way to the silver ring.</p><p>She could barely feel it pulling her East. It was like dreaming; easy, gentle, instinctive.</p><p>Squall shifted in his sleep, one arm slipping off the cotton pallet and onto the reed mat floor. Rinoa looked down at him, then around the chamber. Squall's room in his father's castle was simple, plainer even than the guest chambers she had occupied. There were no ornaments, no paintings on the walls, only his sword Lion Heart, lain carefully on the floor three feet from his pillow.</p><p>The heat of early summer in Esthar did not abate at night, evident from the sheen of sweat on Squall's brow. His cotton sleeping-robe was open across his bare chest, the sheets pushed away in a tangled heap. A chorus of night insects hummed from the castle gardens far below.</p><p><em>How sweet his face is when he sleeps, </em>Rinoa thought. For one moment of painful longing, she wondered how their child—their children—might have looked, had it all been different.</p><p>She drifted downward until she reached an approximation of lying beside him. She curled herself against his side, though her spirit form could not touch him. Rinoa became dimly aware of her body, back in the hunting lodge in the Galbadian Royal Forest, shrouded in blankets, weeping silently. She did not want to return there. If she could stay by his side until morning, without him knowing, then maybe she could find the courage to leave the forest, to show Lord Caraway what she had become, to take her first steps as a free Sorceress...</p><p>Squall stayed so still that she did not notice for a long time that his eyes were open. He was not looking at her. His unblinking gaze was directed at the ceiling.</p><p>"You are afraid," he said quietly. "Afraid, and alone. Where are you?"</p><p><em>Where I need to be, </em>she answered.<em> But yes, I am afraid.</em></p><p>"Why do you put yourself through such trials, when we could be together?"</p><p>
  <em>There are things that I must do.</em>
</p><p>He shifted onto his side, propped up by an elbow, and they were face to face, even if hers was unseeable.</p><p>"Then why are you here? To sate your desires? Did you come to seek comfort from me, then slip through my fingers again, once you have gained it?"</p><p><em>No. </em>She could not stand this. He must think her so selfish, that she had chosen to come here, to torment him.<em> No Squall, you misunderstand. I am not strong enough to keep myself from you, </em>she said.</p><p>"'Strong?' We are Bonded. Why do you deny it to yourself? Why did you accept me as your Knight, if you did not want me?"</p><p>
  <em>I want you.</em>
</p><p>The force of emotion behind her words was enough to pull her body across the void, making the two halves of her whole again. Rinoa gasped for air as her spirit slipped back into her skin, the oppressive humidity of Esthar's night air creating glistening beads of sweat on its surface within seconds.</p><p>"I want you," she whispered to Squall, her voice ragged with weakness. "You must know that I want you."</p><p><em>What I want and what I must do are different things</em>, she tried to tell him, but her lips were already moving against his, and nothing else mattered, not anymore.</p><p>Squall pulled her on top of him to straddle his hips, but with her body still weak and shaking from the aftereffects of teleportation, she did not have the strength to stay there. She slid back onto the cotton pallet, and he rolled to cover her, his head bent over hers, all of him pressing against her, and this was what she wanted, this was what she had missed so much—</p><p>He stopped and lifted his head, his mouth clamped in a taut line.</p><p>"What?" she whispered. "Why?"</p><p>Squall's fingers curled around both of her wrists. The pressure was not enough to cause pain, but she was pinned tightly underneath him, and acutely aware of her vulnerability. He had all the power in this moment. How did he intend to use it? She prodded at his mind, but it was closed to her.</p><p>"Will you stay?" His lips were an inch from hers, and she felt the heat of his breath as he spoke.</p><p>"No, I... No. I cannot."</p><p>Squall let go of her wrists, and rolled off her body to sit on the reed matting, his head bowed against his bare forearms.</p><p>"Then do not come to me like this again. This is cruelty, Rinoa."</p><p>Rinoa clasped the silver ring, and looked at him across the gulf that fell away between them. The anger she had seen in him had drained away, leaving a blank emptiness behind.</p><p>"You are right. The Bond is cruel to us both."</p><p>He did not answer, and she knew there was only one path left to take.</p><p>"I... will release you. But do not think that I do not love you."</p><p>He stared at her with blank incomprehension. <em>Release me? </em>she felt him echo. He did not understand what she was about to do, or even imagine that it could be done at all, but Rinoa's decision was made.</p><p>She focused on the magic within her, and felt the warm strands—a gentle blue-gray, the same as his eyes—that were the part of him she carried inside. She pushed at them, and they began to snap and sever.</p><p>Squall's eyes were glass mirrors in the dark, widened by the grip of a fear that she could no longer touch. "Rinoa, what are you—"</p><p>Then he vanished. He was gone, all of him, and it could not be undone. Their Bond was shattered.</p><p>Her eyes opened in the hunting lodge, her body shaking with cold, the woolen blankets kicked aside. The lodge was all wrong. The walls were red.</p><p>The whole building, the whole world, was soaked in red.</p><p>Rinoa lifted her head, and immediately froze at the voice that rang in her ears, making her teeth rattle.</p><p>
  <em>Good. You have shed our shackles.</em>
</p><p>Red flowed freely down all the walls, red on her hands, red in her eyes.</p><p>
  <em>He was a barrier between us. But no more.</em>
</p><p>She felt her neck constricting, as if sharp nails were pressed against her throat, squeezing the breath out of her.</p><p>"Don't hurt me," she pleaded, clawing at her neck, at the unseen hands.</p><p>
  <em>Hurt you? I will make you strong. I will give you everything.</em>
</p><p>The voice laughed, and let her go. Rinoa crashed into the fireplace, its cold stones slamming against her forehead, ash and dust filling her eyes. A wellspring of defiant pale blue spread across her vision before the pain claimed her. But then she saw nothing more, and she was lost.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter XVI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Chapter XVI</strong>
</p><p>The deadlocked war between fire and ice raged as fiercely as it had in the days after the Succession, and Rinoa was no more able to quell it now than she had been then. But the pain this time—indescribable, unrelenting—was nothing like her dim recollections of before. Had she repressed those memories, the sensation of being torn apart from within? Could any human mind even have the capacity to retain a pain this intense? And she had brought it on herself. The dissolution of the Bond had reopened the locked door to the battle between Quistis and Adel, and the worst part was that Rinoa had known that it would. She had known, and she had walked through it regardless.</p><p>She had chosen this. Was love worth this much?</p><p>...Was anything?</p><p>Eventually the wave of blue settled around her, holding her in its stillness, and every nebulous particle of it was brimming with the essence of Quistis. It brought near-tangible traces of her to Rinoa's mind: the timbre of Quistis' voice, the color of her hair, her eyes, the cool touch of her skin. She was here, somehow. So close that Rinoa could almost touch her.</p><p><em>Quistis? </em>she asked, hope simmering in her chest, spitting out painful bubbles that lodged in her throat.</p><p>
  <em>I have subdued her. For now I have the upper hand. For how long, I cannot say.</em>
</p><p>The voice was as distant as footsteps on a faraway hill, but it was unmistakably Quistis', and Rinoa dropped her head in her hands, unrestrained tears seeping through her fingers and onto the floorboards of the hunting lodge.</p><p>The hardness of Quistis' thoughts indicated that she did not share in Rinoa's relief at their reunion. <em>It was folly to throw away your only shield. And for what? Pride?</em></p><p>"It was not pride!" Rinoa's heated reply came out as words spoken aloud. "It was love. My love for him. I could not allow myself to steal away his fate for a moment longer."</p><p>
  <em>And this man that you love—did you give him a choice in the matter? Did you deign to ask his opinion?</em>
</p><p>"He... He said I was cruel. To keep him in the Bond."</p><p>Was that truly what he had said? Did he mean that the Bond itself was cruel, or the fact that circumstances had forced them apart? She thought back to Squall's fearful eyes, and began to doubt herself. No, he... He had not wanted to be severed from her. He had tried to stop her. She touched the silver ring at her neck, and felt nothing. The connection was gone, sundered.</p><p>"It was the right thing to do." Rinoa shook her head, hair falling around her shoulders. Too late, now, she thought, for regrets. "I have freed him."</p><p>
  <em>And now you must face the consequences.</em>
</p><p>"Yes. I must. And so I will."</p><p><em>Then get up, </em>Quistis commanded, and Rinoa obeyed, pulling herself to stand on shaking legs.</p>
<hr/><p>Quistis stayed with Rinoa long enough for her to drink water from the stream, and scavenge enough forest scraps for a small meal. Her voice was so faint by the end that Rinoa could not make out words any longer.</p><p>When night fell in the forest, and she laid her head on the rolled-up blanket, she silently asked for Quistis' protection through the night. There was no answer, but neither was there pain, or red fire, and that was enough reassurance to allow Rinoa to slip away into dreams.</p><p>But the dreams were all wrong.</p><p>She wore a spiked golden crown on her head, pleasure pulsing from her fingers to her toes as she watched Caraway's lifeless body swinging from the castle gate. The rope was beginning to fray. He would drop soon enough. Down into the murky surface of the moat, sinking without trace to a watery grave.</p><p>From her hands, flame-red magic flowed with abundance, and it was strong, beautiful, limitless. Rinoa walked through the gate into Galbadia Castle's forecourt, where rows upon rows of soldiers and retainers bowed their heads to her. She turned to look at their commander, a raised eyebrow asking him, <em>Is this the best you can do? Do you imagine it is enough? </em>White-faced, he dropped to one knee, his head so low that it touched the ground, and all those behind him followed suit, one after another.</p><p><em>That will do for now, </em>she smiled, and climbed her way up the staircase to the lord's chamber, now the bedroom of a Sorceress Queen. Her father's full-length looking glass stood in welcome beside the heavy oak door, and Rinoa stopped to admire her reflection with sensuous satisfaction. She was shrouded in red fire, seeping like mist from every pore of her skin, and her eyes were coal-black pinpoints circled by rings of the thickest, bloodiest red.</p><p>"<em>No!"</em></p><p>The mirror was cracking: she was hammering it with her fists, and even when the glass shards drew streaks and smears of blood, she did not stop. This was not—not <em>her</em>, it could never be her, not ever—</p><p>A dream. It was only a dream. She tried to blink away a sudden accumulation of fluid. Why did the room swim so?</p><p>Rinoa brought her fingers to her face, touching her eyes, and found that the sweat from her brow was dripping down thickly, obscuring her vision.</p><p>She peeled the drenched blanket away from her skin, and swallowed down the surge of hot bile that threatened to spill from her mouth. Those red eyes in the looking glass...</p><p>
  <em>Quistis! What did I see? Tell me!</em>
</p><p>The voice that answered was not Quistis', and it made Rinoa's blood curdle.</p><p>
  <em>You saw what could be yours. Ours. A different path. The path of power. It is our birthright. Take it.</em>
</p><p>"I do not want that. I never will. I only wish to be free, not to rule others!"</p><p>She waited, bracing herself for reprisal, but Adel's voice was silent. Then it came. The red.</p><p>Rinoa was drowning in red fire that forced its way into her throat and lungs, and into her eyes, coating the surfaces of her eyeballs until she could not see. It reached a critical mass inside her body, then expanded outwards, flaring impossibly bright, and she—whatever was left of her—felt nothing at all.</p>
<hr/><p>When the blackness cleared away, it was to the sensation of raindrops on exposed skin. Rinoa moaned and curled into a ball. Rain could not be falling <em>inside </em>the lodge, her rational mind pointed out, prodding her all the way to wakefulness, and she opened her eyes.</p><p>There was no lodge. She was lying on a carpet of ash, a perfectly round crater on the forest floor, and the rain was falling in a lazy afternoon drizzle, turning the ash into a thick gray mud that clung to her cloak and gown.</p><p>Rinoa looked across the crater, uncomprehending, until she saw the scattered stones of the fireplace and chimney. The rest had been wood, and it had all burned to a crisp. She stared at the scorched earth that ringed the crater, every tree and blade of grass seared away to a fine layer of dust.</p><p>She felt Quistis stir within, and thanked the gods that she was there.</p><p>"What did she do?" Rinoa whispered.</p><p>
  <em>She kept me from seeing. I do not know.</em>
</p><p>Rinoa picked up a warped, half-molten metal ring, recognizing it as one that had been nailed into the chocobo post. If Adel were to do this in a place where there were people... She suppressed a clammy shudder. Such power could lay waste to the whole of Galbadia.</p><p>"Why did this not happen until now? Did the Bond with Squall keep her at bay?"</p><p>
  <em>Yes.</em>
</p><p>She caught Quistis' edge of frustration, a weary nursemaid telling a recalcitrant child for the tenth time that of <em>course</em> the knife was sharp, of <em>course</em> the fire was hot.</p><p>Rinoa raked her hands through her rain-soaked hair. "Am I so weak that I cannot fight her without enslaving a man's life and soul?"</p><p><em>The bond is not slavery, </em>Quistis answered, and Rinoa could feel the reprimand in her tone.</p><p>
  <em>It is true that love lightens the heaviest of burdens. But that does not mean that the bearer of the burden is weak.</em>
</p><p>Rinoa walked in silence to the nearest trees, not prepared to voice her disagreement. Surely Squall's love had merely blinded her to her burden, not lightened it. All this time, she had been fleeing from the conflict taking place within her. Enough. She would flee no more.</p><p>The trees gave her shelter until the drizzle stopped, and the rainclouds were swept away by bright spring sunshine. Rinoa almost smiled, a tug of nostalgia taking her by surprise. She had forgotten how changeable the weather was in the Galbadian springtime; sudden showers, fierce winds, eager sun.</p><p>A flash of red on the wet grass caught her eye, and she glanced at her shadow, made taller and darker by the sun's abrupt return.</p><p>Her shadow was... not her own. The red-tinged shadow that sprawled across the ground was that of a much larger woman, one with broad shoulders and a powerful frame, with unruly, snakelike hair massing around her head. The shadow twisted, and Rinoa realized with horror that it was looking straight at her.</p><p>Rinoa immediately followed her first instinct: to run. She pelted through the forest, boots pounding into the earth, and the shadow copied her pace. It was not long before she stopped, panting and helpless. How could she ever outrun a shadow? She darted under the cover of a cluster of trees, and the outline of the shadow faded, merging into the surrounding shade. Even so, she could still make out a long patch of red on the grass, changing each blade from young spring green to an angry shade of copper.</p><p>"Leave me alone," she hissed at Adel's shadow, and the red-soaked patch quivered as if it were laughing at her.</p><p>Rinoa turned away. If she did not see the shadow, she could pretend it was not there. She began to run again, weaving through bracken and trees, from each scrap of shade to the next, tugging her skirt free from the brambles that hooked their thorns into the cloth. Her legs soon became a mess of scratches. Still the shadow followed, but she would not look at it.</p><p>When her lungs burned with the effort, she came to a halt under a sprawling, ancient oak, and caught her breath.</p><p>A rustling noise made her head jerk up. There was something—or someone—here, someone that was not Adel. Rinoa squinted to look at the tops of the tallest trees above her. They were crackling with lightning.</p><p>A huge shape broke free from the treetops, a birdlike beast the size of a house. It was coated in shimmering feathers of a pale greenish-white, luminous with dancing sparks of light. The long, trailing tips of its wings were bright gold, the color of burnished sun.</p><p>Rinoa had seen a painting of this creature in a book once, many years past. She could not remember its name, a difficult word in an ancient West Centran language. But she remembered the meaning of the name. <em>Thunder God.</em></p><p>She cupped her mouth with her hands, and called to the sky in the loudest voice she could summon.</p><p>"Great Guardian! I seek your aid! Please!"</p><p>Her call echoed in the forest, and Rinoa knew she was a fool. Before, Shiva and Leviathan had shown her their favor, but they had done so for Quistis, not for Rinoa herself. This creature did not know who she was. Why should it help her?</p><p>The god-bird showed no sign of having heard. It ascended skyward until it was a glowing green speck, leaving Rinoa defeated, with her bleeding, scratched knees pressed to the forest floor, and a laughing shadow closing in on her back.</p>
<hr/><p>She was motionless, trapped in glass.</p><p>No, not glass.</p><p>Ice. A sea of it, pressing down on her, crushing her body into submission.</p><p>Her blood had formed black-red ribbons that trailed through the ice, a wound that could never heal, frozen in time.</p><p>A deathlike cold flooded every synapse, every cell, but she was not dead. She tried desperately to move, to lift her head, to kick out her legs, to smash through the ice and set herself free, and—</p><p>—and then Rinoa remembered who she was.</p><p>The words hummed in her head, the same words.</p><p>
  <em>Bring me back there, I am alive here. I will never let you forget about me.</em>
</p><p>Always the same words. Day in, day out. She clung to them, like a dragon with its jaws clamped onto the carcass of a dead beast. Sometimes she thought they were only thing tethering her to life.</p><p>
  <em>Bring me back there, I am alive here. I will never let you forget about me.</em>
</p><p>The barest wisp of red fire pulsed under her frozen skin. Rinoa knew it was not enough for her to break free; it would be years before it was enough. But it was returning to her, drop by magical drop. She must bide her time, staring out at the sky through unblinking eyes. The empty heavens, the blank waste that taunted her with its silence.</p><p>Weeks, months, years. Counting them was meaningless. The only measure that mattered was the slow trickle of her magic building up. And today was merely a day like all the others.</p><p>Until she saw them.</p><p>Two faces, peering at her through the ice. One dark and angular, one pale and heavy-set.</p><p><em>The men who imprisoned me, </em>she thought. <em>When I break through, I will tear their flesh from their bones.</em></p><p>The bulkier man, the mute, made some signal with his hands, and the Southern man spoke in reply. Rinoa only saw his lips move; no sound could travel through the sheet of ice. The mute turned his head, and a third man came to crouch over her. He pulled back the fur-lined hood of his cloak, revealing long dark hair and an easy smile, and her fury was lit ablaze.</p><p>The Usurper had come to gloat, to laugh at her in her frozen prison. He would be the first to die, when she broke through the ice. She would rip his life from his throat, and burn the castle he had built on the ruins of her home, that silver mockery that laid his vanity bare for all the East to see. She would snuff out the life of his child, and ensure that the Usurper's legacy would be nothing but ashes. Rinoa savored a thrill of visceral pleasure as her rage stoked and fed the red heat that burned in her chest. Soon she would be ready to let it out, let it melt the ice. <em>Kill them all</em>. Esthar would bow to her once more.</p><p>They spoke, and they watched her, and she looked back at them with eyes of glass. In time, the three men left, and she was left impotent, raging against the empty sky.</p><p>
  <em>Bring me back there</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am alive here</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I will never let you forget about me</em>
</p><p>The mantra circled in her mind, and she clung to it. Yet somewhere buried within, there was a dissenting voice, small but stubborn.</p><p>—<em>But I am Rinoa, and this is—</em></p><p>So. The weakling had fought itself awake. She smothered it with red fire, choking its voice until it fell silent.</p><p><em>No. We are Adel, </em>she said.</p><p>—<em>We... We are Adel</em>, it replied, dull and obedient.</p><p>If her rictus lips could have moved, she would have pulled them back into a smile that bared her teeth.</p><p>
  <em>We are Adel, and we shall have our vengeance.</em>
</p><p>Adel knew it would be hers, in time. All she needed was forbearance. Control over her own mind. She needed her mantra.</p><p>
  <em>BRING ME BACK THERE I AM ALIVE HERE I WILL NEVER LET YOU FORGET ABOUT ME</em>
</p><p>
  <em>BRING ME BACK THERE I AM AL—</em>
</p><p>But the ice was melting, a beam of white light ripping through it as if it were paper, leaving fragmented rainbows scattered across the water as it melted away. Adel's fury reverberated through her skull like a Behemoth's howl. Something was here, some invader that <em>should not be here at all</em>—</p><p>Searing radiance forced her eyes open, tearing her out of the grasp of Adel's memories, and she was Rinoa of Galbadia again. Half-blinded, it took her a long moment before she could make out the source of the light.</p><p>The Guardian's coruscant wings were curved in an arc over her shivering body, its head bent low. It had... It had protected her. Rinoa slowly reached out a hand to caress the great creature's head. The beast—the god-bird—was a being wrought of pure light, its body wreathed in sparkling iridescence. The lightning that danced across its feathers trickled into her fingers, and charged her blood. It did not hurt; it tingled pleasantly, and gave her the sensation that she was sharing in the Guardian's power. In this moment, Adel could not touch her. Nothing could.</p><p>She remembered its name now, as clearly as if the page of <em>Centran Myths and Legends </em>was laid open before her.</p><p>"Quetzalcotl," she breathed.</p><p>Quetzalcotl's lidded eyes, multifaceted crystals reflecting a thousand colors into the darkness, looked down on Rinoa, and she could not dare to imagine what they saw. She stared back up, spellbound and silent. The Guardian blinked at her, and flexed its vast wings, creating a rush of cool air that blasted past Rinoa's ears and nearly knocked her flat to the ground.</p><p>Gasping for breath, she scrambled up to stand face-to-face with Quetzalcotl once more.</p><p>"Please! Tell me how I can fight her!"</p><p>
  <em>All is held within.</em>
</p><p>The Guardian's voice resounded throughout Rinoa's mind, an otherworldly voice she would never find the words to describe, and the shock of it made her clamp her hands over her ears.</p><p>Quetzalcotl turned its head heavenwards and soared up into the night, each wingbeat sending miniature tornados of air down to where Rinoa stood, whipping her hair around her face. Sparks of lightning trailed in the wake of its wings, and Rinoa watched them fall to earth and fizzle away, leaving the forest hung with a shimmering cloak of electricity and magic; the magic of the gods.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I feel like a lot of people already know this, but if not: the "I AM ALIVE HERE" mantra is from the game—it's frozen-in-space Adel's rant, which forms the contents of the worldwide static interference that makes radio transmissions impossible. It can be seen in the repeated red text on the giant TV screen in Timber, not so legible on those low-res backgrounds, though. Random tidbit: it appeared as a readable text box in the JP version, as English text wRiTteN liKe tHiS, when you stand next to the Timber TV. (Predating the English translation of the game, which is probably why it's a bit... off? "Bring me back there" isn't great grammatically...) It was cut from the international release, for some reason. Too much foreshadowing, I suppose.</p><p>...And in the most tenuous FFVIII reference ever... the 'different shadow' element in this chapter was inspired by the game too. In the FMV of the Dollet landing, they replaced Rinoa (from the demo) with Selphie's model but forgot to replace her shadow, so Selphie has Rinoa's shadow when she's watching Squall try to outrun the spider-mech. It led me to think up a scenario where Rinoa had possessed Selphie, making her shadow change shape... which eventually turned into this thing with Adel. Anyway. Thanks for reading my ramblings! </p><p>(Comments are super welcome, by the way! My AO3 comment sections are perma-tumbleweed since most of my readers are on FFN, but I'm always happy when one turns up! Would love to hear your thoughts, AO3 people.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter XVII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter XVII</strong>
</p>
<p>The power of the Guardian Force lingered in Rinoa's blood in the hours that followed. As she made her way through the thick bracken and spring growth of the forest, she pieced together fragments of the dreams—or visions —Adel had shown her. Each memory was laced together by a thread of hot anger that she could not dislodge. Adel's fury at her imprisonment under the Trabian ice had seeped into Rinoa's psyche, welding itself so firmly in place that she could not disentangle it from her own emotions. No matter how well she knew the rage was not her own, she still felt it. That gave Rinoa pause. Adel was capable of influencing her emotions. What chance did she have against an adversary who had crept inside her mind, flowing like poison under her skin?</p>
<p>One thing, at least, was clear: she could never return to Esthar. Adel's hatred of Laguna was all-consuming. Were Rinoa to step into the lord's presence again, Adel could seize control in an instant.</p>
<p>A tightness clutched at her chest as she realized that the same was true for Squall. Adel must know by now that he was the lord's son. Bond or no Bond, Rinoa could not meet with him again without placing his life in great danger.</p>
<p>She walked on through the night, the burst of energy from Quetzalcotl lending new strength to her legs. The moon was high, spilling silver light onto her surroundings. The trees were younger, the forest less dense now. Rinoa had found her way onto the main riding path, and she knew from memory that Galbadia Castle and its town were close. By daybreak, she would be walking among her countrymen.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The dawn brought with it a light mist that coated her face with damp. The sky turned from gray to white, a dome of unbroken clouds; the Galbadian sky was blue only for a handful of days a year, at least so it had seemed to Rinoa while growing up.</p>
<p>Her pace quickened when she caught sight of the first house. Smoke was rising from chimneys here and there, the first fires of the day lit. Galbadia's castle town had grown past the old boundary walls long ago, and it was easy to slip in through the sprawl of peasants' houses that edged onto the forest. From here, she could walk straight through the center of town, and likely face no guards until she reached the castle gates.</p>
<p>The dirt path gave way to uneven cobblestones once she left the outskirts, and Rinoa soon discovered just how little she knew the streets of her own hometown. She had never been permitted to walk in town unchaperoned, and even on those rare excursions in the company of others, she had rarely strayed from the Carriage Road, the wide, paved approach to the castle. Though the maze of lanes and alleys at this far edge of town was unfamiliar, there was little chance of her becoming lost; the main keep of Galbadia Castle loomed high above the streets, like a great tombstone, and all she had to do was walk in its direction. Still, it unnerved Rinoa how much she felt like a outsider in this place. She had come to know the back streets of lower Esthar by heart with her eyes closed, but the town of her birth might as well be a foreign land.</p>
<p>Or perhaps it was the reverse: now, she was the foreign one. Esthar had changed her; Trabia even more so, and the Succession, the Bond, and the breaking of the Bond... The transformation was irrevocable. The Lady Rinoa who had left this land was gone forever, and the Sorceress who walked in her place was a different woman entirely.</p>
<p>Rinoa wrinkled her nose at the stench of the makeshift latrines that lined the streets. She had forgotten how the Galbadian habit of throwing night soil into the gutter brought the pervasive odors of twenty thousand human bodies fully into the open. Esthar had had its own cornucopia of smells, to be sure, but at least Laguna's stringent laws commanded that human waste be kept away from the streets. If she herself were this country's ruler, Rinoa thought, she would decree that—</p>
<p>She stopped. <em>If she were ruler</em>? Where had that come from? Succeeding her father had never been an option, never even spoken of. Women could not rule. Seifer was to have married into her line, and taken control of Galbadia upon her father's death. That had been the agreement with Dollet, for some vast amount of gold Rinoa did not care to know. But she... Things were different now. If she wanted to seize her homeland...</p>
<p>Images of the first dream shown by Adel swam before her eyes. Her father's limp body, his neck choked by a fraying rope, a crown of spikes on Rinoa's own head. No, these were not her own thoughts. Adel was surely forcing them into her mind. She span around, determined to catch the red shadow at her heels, but it was not there.</p>
<p><em>Your will is not mine. Do not trick me like that</em>, she snarled inside her head, to no response.</p>
<p>Rinoa walked on, troubled by the implication that the thoughts had been her own. Perhaps she did not know her own mind as well as she thought; or maybe it was becoming warped, burdened by the presence of its uninvited passengers. What was the old Galbadian expression? <em>Three is a crowd. </em>She grimaced. Three Sorceresses inside one skull was certainly a crowd. At least for the moment, with the Guardian's blessing, there was silence within, and she was grateful for that.</p>
<p>She had almost reached the trader's square of the town, where the high arches of the Wrought Iron Guild stood tall on the castle-side, and the sandstone-hewn Corn Exchange building opposite. She had not yet passed a single soul, at this early hour, but the streets would soon start to fill with traders and their customers.</p>
<p>Sure enough, when she turned onto the square, her path was blocked by two men—a father and son, Rinoa thought, from the sight of their thick brows and heavy-set jaws—unloading a cart of grain. The younger man caught sight of her and froze on the spot, only looking away when his father clipped him about the ear.</p>
<p>With light feet, Rinoa picked her way around the cart, and walked quickly on without turning back. She had not come here to bother the townsfolk, after all. Taking a narrow side road out of the square, two corners later she found herself in a street lined with the tall townhouses that belonged to the lower gentry.</p>
<p>A washerwoman was descending the steps of one grand-looking house on Rinoa's side of the road. Clutching a basket packed full with crumpled bedlinen, she was taking away the morning's laundry from a noble's residence. She nearly crashed into Rinoa, and the basket fell onto the cobblestones, its contents spilling over into the gutter.</p>
<p>The woman swore to herself, and bent to pull the now-sodden sheets out of the dirt. Rinoa crouched to her ankles to help.</p>
<p>"Here, allow me to—"</p>
<p>The washerwoman's head jerked up sharply, and a mishmash of reactions passed across her face so quickly that Rinoa could barely follow their course. Embarrassment, then a flicker of warmth, Rinoa thought, then wide fearful eyes replaced by a cold detachment. The woman broke their gaze, and with rapid hands picked the spilled sheets up without even shaking off the mud. She stuffed the sheets haphazardly into the basket and scuttled away down the street without looking at Rinoa.</p>
<p>Rinoa watched her as she left, and wondered who the woman had thought she had seen. The lord's long-lost daughter? Or a half-crazed, half-starved foreign witch?</p>
<p>As she walked her way to the heart of the upper town, the scent of a simmering stockpot led her to the door of a tavern. It was almost unbearable. Rinoa realized that she could not deny her hunger for a second longer. Since leaving Edea's hearth, she had subsisted on nothing but foraged wild scraps and stream water—and for how many days, she had no idea. The idea that a hot meal might lie behind that door, even the thinnest, sloppiest gruel, was enough to compel Rinoa's hands to push on the thick oak door before her mind had time to catch up and weigh over the decision.</p>
<p>The door gave way to her palms easily. It was open, thank all the gods. Galbadians, as a rule, did not tend to venture out into the streets until much later in the morning, but this tavern was open and serving breakfast to those traders and merchants whose shops were soon to unlock their doors. There were ten or so of them, all men, all at least twice her age, and every single one of them stopped mid-bite or mid-sentence to stare at her as she walked to the counter.</p>
<p>Rinoa did not know if the tavern's sudden hush was for her strange attire, or for her face. Over the years, the people of the town were sure to have noticed the lord's daughter ride past from time to time, either mounted on birdback or pulled in a carriage, but they would have seen a noble lady in a crinolined dress, hair pinned high on her head under her lace bonnet. How many of them had truly looked at the young Lady Rinoa's face? How many would remember it?</p>
<p>She glanced at the half-eaten fare on the plate of the tradesman seated nearest to her, and cleared her throat. "A bowl of broth, with bread and cheese, please," she said to the tavern-keeper. Rinoa slid her hand into the pocket of her cloak, and placed one of the antique gold sovereigns Edea had given her on the countertop with a neat <em>clink</em>.</p>
<p>The tavern-keeper, who appeared to have been stunned into silence, stared at the coin in front of him. He did not pick it up.</p>
<p>"Will you not serve a daughter of this realm?" she asked.</p>
<p>He gave a croak that came to nothing, then found his voice. "M'lady... Lady Rinoa?"</p>
<p>"I am glad to be recognized," Rinoa said with feeling, and smiled at the tavern-keeper.</p>
<p>"We all heard Lady Rinoa was dead, or..." He swallowed, his eyes shifting from side to side. "Or... worse."</p>
<p>"Than death? <em>Is</em> there any worse?" Rinoa mused, then imagined the sharp rebuke Quistis would give to such a question. "Yes, I suppose there is. But it has not befallen me. Not yet, at least."</p>
<p>He gaped at her, then picked up the coin gingerly and turned it in his fingers, his bushy white brows knitted closely together.</p>
<p>"It's an old one, I know," she said. "But still acceptable as legal tender, I believe."</p>
<p>"I- I mean no offense, m'lady." He looked terrified for a long moment, and Rinoa leaned in with her palms on the counter, attempting to disarm him with her most beguiling smile.</p>
<p>"Might I trouble you for some breakfast, then?"</p>
<p>"Of course, m'lady. Coming right up."</p>
<p>The tavern-keeper took one last curious glance at the gold sovereign, then slipped it off the counter and into the coin-box, returning with a stack of silver and copper coins. Rinoa pocketed the change, offered her thanks and took a seat at the counter. Although the urge to whip her head around and meet the stares of the other customers tugged hard at her, she faced steadfastly forward, and the sounds of knives and forks scraping against crockery, and the murmur of breakfast chatter gradually returned to the tavern.</p>
<p>By the time her breakfast was served, she could have slid off the barstool in sheer hunger; the aroma from the kitchen was excruciating. But the wait was worth it. The broth was piping hot, and packed with chunks of turnip, stewed mutton and a number of fresh herbs she could not name. The bread was as thick and misshapen as a doorstop, spread with a layer of butter that was deep enough to show teeth marks. Rinoa eagerly tore off chunks of the bread and dipped them in the broth, and it took all her efforts to suppress a moan of pleasure at the taste. The butter melted upon contact with the soup, leaving spirals of pale yellow on the surface. The cheese was hard, and perhaps older than it ought to be, but it tasted all the better for the many months she had lived without it. Laguna's conspiratorial grin came into her mind. <em>The food of the gods, </em>he had said. She remembered Squall's sour reaction. <em>Curdled sow's milk. It sounds thoroughly disgusting.</em></p>
<p>How long ago it all seemed. Rinoa gulped down her mouthful, her throat suddenly thick and constricted with emotion. It would not do to start thinking about Squall now. His absence from her heart was an empty void that she dare not look into, lest she let it consume her. She had a task to do here; she could not mourn the scars of the Bond until it was done.</p>
<p>The door to the tavern was flung open, and heavy bootsteps informed Rinoa that trouble had found her, as it always seemed to. She turned her head to see three of her father's retainers, a commander flanked by two young men that were barely more than squires. The commander's face was stern, and his hand was tightly wrapped around the hilt of his sword at his hip.</p>
<p>Rinoa chewed her mouthful of bread slowly and stared at him, as if to say <em>will you really draw your blade upon the lord's daughter as she dines?</em></p>
<p>The commander's knuckles tensed and moved, and then the broadsword was drawn, and the sound of a pin dropping in the tavern would have rung out like a chorus of bells against the silence that met the blade's edge.</p>
<p>Rinoa's gaze traveled along the shaft of the blade with disdain, then she gave a half-shrug and returned her attention to her spoonful of of broth.</p>
<p>The commander took a step forward, and the point of the broadsword was three feet away from her neck.</p>
<p>"Sirs, beggin' your pardon, but she's caused no—"</p>
<p>The commander rounded on the tavern-keeper, and the man behind the counter shrunk back in fear when the sword swung in his direction.</p>
<p>"Keep your silence man, or you'll lose your license for serving a witch," the commander snapped, and brought the blade back to point straight at Rinoa.</p>
<p>The two retainers behind him had drawn their swords too, though Rinoa noted that both took a more reluctant stance and weaker grip than their leader. They were not united, then, she thought. Meaning that she had the upper hand already. She drew her shoulders back, and fixed all three men with the haughty stare of a noblewoman wronged.</p>
<p>"Is this the welcome you give me? This town is my home, and you have known me since my girlhood. You, Sir Vinzer, used to dandle me on your knee. And your mother, young Sir Wedge, sewed the ribbons on my dresses. As for <em>you</em>, Sir Biggs—"</p>
<p>Rinoa frowned. She could barely remember this one. Not enough to find an apposite insult for him, at any rate. She glared at him instead, but he would not meet her eyes.</p>
<p>Sir Wedge lowered his sword by a hands' width, and said, "M'lady, let us not burden these tavern-folk any further. Your quarrel is not with them."</p>
<p>"I quite agree," she replied, with a look of pure venom directed at Sir Vinzer.</p>
<p>"Then step outside, please," Sir Vinzer said, his tone cool and detached. His broadsword had not moved a fraction.</p>
<p>"I have not finished my broth."</p>
<p>She drained the bowl, slowly and defiantly as they waited, swords never wavering. Rinoa wiped her mouth roughly with the back of her hand—decorum be damned—and fumbled in her pocket for a second golden sovereign, before laying it on the counter in front of the startled tavern-keeper.</p>
<p>"For your trouble," she said, and followed the three swords out of the door.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The long walk leading to the great arched gate of the castle was spent in a silence that Rinoa saw no point in breaking. At Sir Vinzer's nodded command, the blades were sheathed outside the tavern, so she was at least spared the shame of being herded to the castle gate like a criminal. But it did not escape Rinoa's notice that Sir Vinzer's fingers never left the hilt of his sword.</p>
<p>She knew two of the guards at the gates; not by name, but well enough to feel aggrieved when neither man would look at her. She had no doubt that they knew exactly who she was. Sir Vinzer murmured to one, a conversation that she could not hear, and when they had cleared the arch and were standing on the clipped grass lawn of the castle's forecourt, he turned to face her.</p>
<p>"His Lordship has not yet returned from riding, I am told. You will await his return in the castle."</p>
<p>Rinoa responded with a sullen stare, and followed him through the main entrance and into the cavernous, deserted Great Hall. Her eyes, after adjusting to the shadowy gloom inside, were drawn to the wall above the Lord's High Table, to the bare patch of stone where a five-foot-high painting of Rinoa's grandfather should have hung, his hard black eyes surveying all who entered the hall without pity or welcome.</p>
<p>She rounded on Sir Biggs. "<em>Where</em> is the portrait of my lord grandfather?"</p>
<p>Sir Biggs flinched back from her imperious tone. "Ta-taken for cleaning and reframing, m'lady. At the start of this month."</p>
<p>Rinoa ignored his answer, an idea slotting deftly into place in her mind. Surely this was the reason why her efforts to travel here using magic had been so unsuccessful. Her visualization had been all wrong. <em>My father's castle. The Great Hall. Under the portrait of Grandfather.</em> There was no painting of Lord Alexander Caraway VIII in the Great Hall at present; the scene she had imagined in such painstaking detail did not exist.</p>
<p>Sir Vinzer stopped abruptly in front of the spiral staircase that led upwards to the private family chambers.</p>
<p>"Wait in your chamber until your lord father is present." His eyes swept past her, to Wedge and Biggs. "Stand guard outside her door," he told them.</p>
<p>Rinoa thrust out her jaw. "How <em>very</em> high your station has risen since I left, Sir Vinzer. You now seem to think yourself to have the authority to confine the lord's daughter to her room."</p>
<p>"In the lord's absence, the decision is mine. Perhaps you might avail yourself of the looking glass, and make your appearance more presentable for your lord father."</p>
<p>Sir Vinzer's tone remained infuriatingly level; this man would not rise to her baiting. Still he refused to look directly at her, which vexed Rinoa all the more.</p>
<p><em>I am still an unruly child to them, </em>she realized as she climbed the stone steps to her chamber, Wedge and Biggs lagging four or five steps behind.<em> That is all I will ever be.</em></p>
<p>The door to her bedroom was propped open. Rinoa wondered if it had been open all this time, and whether there was some kind of deeper meaning in that, but she made sure to close it quickly behind her, slamming the stiff wood a fraction of an inch from Sir Wedge's nose.</p>
<p>The chamber was exactly how she had left it in her midnight flit so many months ago. The only difference was the fine layer of dust coating everything: the lacy frills and ribbons that festooned her bed-frame, the polished dressing table, the wardrobes full of fancy gowns she hated wearing; a rocking chocobo, the paint half-flaked off the carved wood; and her dollhouse, populated with porcelain miniatures of the lords and ladies that filled the pages of Galbadia's history books. Yes, it was just how it had always been: a child's room, for a child's life.</p>
<p>A shiver took hold at the back of Rinoa's neck. No fire had been lit in the grate for many months, and the room was freezing. Gray stone walls and floor, and a towering ceiling many times her own height, meant that the sun's rays at the windows would never bring true warmth, even in summer. She found it hard not to draw comparisons with Laguna's castle, with its gleaming wooden beams, paper sliding doors, and reed mat floors. Esthar Castle was crafted from living, breathing materials. Galbadia Castle was as cold and lifeless as the granite cliffs that towered over the Northern Sea ten leagues west from her windows.</p>
<p>She brushed the dust off the stool to her dressing table, and slid onto the seat. Some strange creature stared back at her from the gilt-framed looking glass. A wild bird's nest of hair framed a hollow, hungry face that she could barely recognize as her own. Rinoa peered closer at her reflection to examine her eyes. There were still sparks of Quetzalcotl's iridescence in her irises, jumping, fizzing out a spectrum of color that bled into the brown beneath. She understood now why Sir Vinzer and the others had so steadfastly avoided her gaze. An unearthly witch-girl walked among them, and they no longer knew her.</p>
<p>She picked up the hairbrush that was laid next to the glass, and attempted to tame her hair. The pulling at her scalp made her wince in pain, but she persevered until she made some sort of progress. The brush, inlaid with mother-of-pearl on the back and handle, had been a keepsake from Lady Julia. Rinoa stopped mid-brush, remembering something. She pulled open the drawer of the dresser, rummaging until she found a small velvet-lined box. She opened it, and withdrew the thin band of white gold that was her only other memento of her mother: Lady Julia's wedding ring. Rinoa fumbled at the clasp at the back of her neck, and when the chain was free, she threaded the ring onto it, next to Squall's. Her mother's ring looked almost comically small and delicate against the sleeping lion. Side by side, the difference in tone was so slight that they could both have been silver. She tucked the chain into the neckline of her dress, away from any prying eyes that might notice the ring's removal from the castle. If this was the last time she set foot within these walls, she reasoned, she may as well take what was hers. There would be no other chance.</p>
<p>A nervous knock at the door broke her line of thought, and she heard Sir Wedge's voice.</p>
<p>"M'lady. Your lord father awaits in his study."</p>
<p>With one last look at the wild-eyed witch in the mirror, Rinoa stood, ready to face the lord of Galbadia, and all his wrath.</p>
<hr/>
<p>In the space between the window and the writing desk, Lord Caraway was pacing with sharp strides, in the way he always did when angered. She knew better than to speak while he was still pacing. Woe betide anyone who ever did.</p>
<p>She watched him in silence, swept up in the familiarity of his tall, ramrod-straight figure, all angular sharpness without a trace of soft indulgence. Those bony cheekbones, the streaks of white hair at his temples spreading inches further than the last time she had laid eyes on him.</p>
<p>He was still dressed in his riding cloak, boots, and gloves. His pacing slowed, and he started to fiddle at the fastenings of his leather gloves, hissing irritation through his teeth when his gloved fingers slipped against the buttons. When he was finished, he threw the gloves onto the writing desk, and stood glowering at her.</p>
<p>"Father," she said, in curt greeting. It was not reciprocated.</p>
<p>He marched across the study to tower over her, and tilted her chin upwards with his hand. Rinoa found herself immobilized, in instant regression to a little girl being scolded. Lord Caraway stared hard into his daughter's eyes for a long moment, then pushed her face away with rough fingers.</p>
<p>"Is it true, then? That you are a witch?"</p>
<p>"I am not a 'witch'. I am a Sorceress." She opened her palm to unleash a display of magic, and a blue flame leaped high with eager joy.</p>
<p>Thin, blood-red tendrils wove throughout the pale blue fire, twisting, dancing, mocking. Rinoa stifled the flame immediately, staring at her hand in shock. Red streaks of magic. Adel's magic. When had she—</p>
<p>But <em>how</em>, when she had not even used a drop of her magic since...</p>
<p>...since breaking the Bond. The realization settled like lead in Rinoa stomach. <em>I let her in. I opened the door</em>—<em>I let her in.</em></p>
<p>Lord Caraway, oblivious to her horror, barked out a derisive laugh. "Barely enough to light a campfire. I've seen more convincing mummer's tricks, Rinoa. But let us accept for one moment that you are, as you say, a <em>Sorceress.</em> What do you seek by coming here? Do you hope to seize this castle for your own?"</p>
<p>"My own? This castle is my home, is it not?"</p>
<p>"You left."</p>
<p>There was a well of emotion behind his voice, but it was stopped by the cold, tight lid of his rigid face and blank eyes. Still, it left her reeling, and unable to reply.</p>
<p>"You <em>left</em>." He hurled the words at her a second time. "You stole away in the dead of night, leaving me waiting in fear for a ransom demand."</p>
<p>"I told you that I would not marry Almasy. You would not listen. What choice was left to me?"</p>
<p>"To do your duty, as any noble would!"</p>
<p>He roared his reply, and she flinched away from him, out of pure habit. Lord Caraway watched her with keen eyes, and she cursed herself for showing such weakness.</p>
<p>"Tell me this. Who gave you passage out of Galbadia?"</p>
<p>Rinoa stifled an internal sigh of relief. At least, then, they had been safe from his wrath, all those who had aided her escape. The stable-boy, too timid to tell the lord's daughter that she ought not be out so late at night; the innkeeper in Monterosa, who had asked no questions about a young woman traveling alone; the South Dolletian fisherfolk who had taken her to Balamb for a stack of gold coins, and the cloth traders from Balamb who were setting sail for Esthar with a cargo full of wool and undyed cotton.</p>
<p>"I do not know their names."</p>
<p>Her father hardly looked as though he believed her, but he waved the answer away. "I thought you dead, until word came that you were residing in the palace of a man who once tried to claim my wife."</p>
<p>Rinoa was stunned. "You... <em>knew</em> I was in Esthar?"</p>
<p>"Of course. I sent my army to reclaim you. They had reached Dollet to join forces with Almasy's men when they were diverted to Centra by your... by that light in the sky." He pursed his lips in distaste.</p>
<p>"So your priority, far above me, was to claim a Sorceress. How long were you willing to put your daughter's rescue on hold for?"</p>
<p>"You are being ridiculous. The Sorceress turned out to be <em>you</em>, as we both know. If I had sent them on to Esthar, you would not have been there. Do not be so petulant." He fixed her with sharply narrowed eyes. "The rumors from the East were that you were betrothed to the lord's son."</p>
<p>"The lord himself spread those rumors. We were never betrothed. Lord Laguna wished it to be so, however."</p>
<p>"And the son? The young lord?"</p>
<p>"...Not at first. But he did ask for my hand, later. I refused."</p>
<p>Lord Caraway left a long silence before he next spoke, with quiet precision.</p>
<p>"And yet you lay with him."</p>
<p>Rinoa, speech robbed from her lips, spluttered and stared at her father.</p>
<p>"It is obvious from your face. Don't insult me by denying it. I thought I raised a noblewoman, not a common whore."</p>
<p>"Father. How dare you?" she whispered, her clenched hands shaking.</p>
<p>He sneered down at his riding boots, and gave a humorless laugh. That cold, mocking laugh of his that, as Rinoa had learned in childhood, always came just before the final blow.</p>
<p>"Perhaps you're right. At least a whore would have had the damned sense to demand payment." He looked up at her, and said under his breath, "You little fool."</p>
<p>Her skin was burning, and she could do nothing to stop the spread of red heat across her face. Rinoa told herself that shame was his only weapon against her, and she must not let it strike.</p>
<p>"If I was your son, and I bedded an Esthari princess, would you shame me?" she said. "No! You would puff out your chest with pride!"</p>
<p>He opened his mouth to reply, but her flame was lit, and she advanced towards him, hot anger coursing up from her gut. "How crushing your disappointment must be, now that my virtue is no longer an asset of yours to <em>sell!</em> The shame should be all yours. Far better a whore than a whore<em>monger</em>, father!"</p>
<p>The last barb hit its target, and Lord Caraway's eyes flared with rage. He drew his hand back to slap her roundly across her face, and her reaction was instant. Magic pulsed from her fingers, forcing out ice that flew to his hand and froze it in place. Lost in the cool pleasure of the clean, sharp shards of ice, Rinoa barely noticed that the glow of her magic was now pure blood-red, without a trace of blue.</p>
<p>Her father made a snarling noise, and tried to use his free hand to wrestle his frozen hand clear of the spell, but the ice burned at his fingers, and he let out a yelp of pain.</p>
<p>Rinoa bared her teeth in a cold, joyless smile. She could feel Adel's excitement and hunger, underpinning her own feelings, mingling with Adel's hot red fury; a part of it, she knew, was fired by her own anger.</p>
<p>
  <em>Good. Now take his life.</em>
</p>
<p>Adel's deep voice filled her skull, and she could not find a reason to fight it. He had called her a whore, hadn't he? How could any man insult a Sorceress and expect to live? He— He was...</p>
<p>The smallest fleck of blue light swam before her eyes, one pinprick hovering against the sea of red.</p>
<p><em>This is not your way, little thief, </em>it said, and the cool balm of Quistis' voice pulled Rinoa out of her trance.</p>
<p>The little fleck swelled and grew, and now there was a patch of blue mist closing around Rinoa's head, with red fire lashing angrily at its sides. Overwhelmed by the magical conflict, she gave a cry of sheer agony, and the spell broke.</p>
<p>Both the red and blue had vanished, and a heap of shattered ice crystals fell around Lord Caraway's boots. He cradled his freezing arm with the other, his wary eyes on his daughter, who drew several deep breaths, her gaze fixed on the ice on the floor.</p>
<p>"I am no whore, neither am I a noblewoman," she said. "No longer. I am a Sorceress, and I will choose how I live my life. Call off Almasy. Tell him I have removed myself from the Caraway line, and am not yours to offer."</p>
<p>Her father flexed his numb fingers, the flesh clammy and bone-white.</p>
<p>"Tell him yourself," he spat.</p>
<p>Rinoa wavered for a moment, the stalemate clear. If she walked away now, with no further words, this could not be repaired. There could never be reconciliation. <em>Whore </em>and <em>whoremonger </em>hung in the air between them, and she could not unsay her part, even if she wished to.</p>
<p>But if she stayed a moment longer, she would only give Adel more chances to surface, and that crown of gold spikes, the lifeless body sinking into the moat, were only one decision away.</p>
<p>Rinoa turned her back, and walked out of the study, through the Great Hall, and out of castle. Swords were drawn, then rapidly sheathed as she passed; eyes moved away from her.</p>
<p><em>To Dollet</em>, she thought, her boots pounding against the cobblestones of the streets, townspeople scattering away from her as she marched through the throng of the morning market. Rinoa barely registered their fear. She had a message to deliver to Seifer Almasy's ears, and then she would be free.</p>
<p>A chocobo cart veered out of her way. A man was shouting at the driver, a senseless noise that did not filter through to Rinoa's mind. He stopped as soon as he saw her, and gaped while she passed. She strode on, unseeing.</p>
<p>To Dollet, and the man who still believed he had a claim to her. Seifer needed to hear her renouncement of their betrothal, clear and unyielding. Then, and only then, she would be free.</p>
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